


Back to Me

by Tavyn



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: CaptainCanary, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Falling In Love, Fix-It, Friendship, Grief/Mourning, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Season 1 Spoilers, Slow Burn, Time Travel, Timey-Wimey
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-15
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2018-07-15 04:13:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 77,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7207421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tavyn/pseuds/Tavyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-Season 1. When a solo mission to 1996 lands Sara Lance in a jail cell with a 20-something Leonard Snart, she's sure it'll be the last time she sees him - that is, until a visitor from the future proves her wrong. Learning there's a chance her crook is still alive somehow, somewhere, somewhen, she'll stop at nothing to get him back. Fix-it. CaptainCanary</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First and foremost, this is a fix-it. This first part is sad for obvious reasons, but if you stick with me for the next ~5 chapters, I can promise a happy ending. Huge thanks to ClaudiaRain for the first read and feedback! Disclaimer: I do not own LoT or any associated characters.

_Part 1_

"That's going to need stitches."

Sara Lance,  _Ta-er al-Safar_ , trained assassin, White Canary – formerly Black Canary – was laid out flat on her back, sweaty skin stuck to the sparring mat, head spinning and blood dripping into her eye.

"Thanks, Mick," she groaned. Mick's giant form loomed over her, his gruff face swimming in and out of her vision. She covered her eye with a hand, struggling to fuse his duplicating forms into one. Only his crossed arms and grim frown were clear through the haze. She frowned, too. That was one  _hell_  of a punch – but it never should have landed.

"Come on," he was saying. "I'll take you to see Gideon in the med bay."

"No thanks," she rejected, lurching to a sitting position.  _Not better_ , she grimaced. So,  _so_  much worse. She swayed back, catching herself just as a wave of nausea hit and rose hot bile to the back of her throat. She suppressed a shudder.

Mick was not impressed. He crouched down, leveling himself with her hunched form. His brow furrowed as he peeled back her eyelids to check her pupils. No doubt, they were dilated.

"I'll take care of it myself," she insisted, swatting his hand away.

He grunted, standing. "Suit yourself."

He gave her forehead another long look. She was so disoriented, she almost thought she saw a twinge of regret flash across his hard face. Not that  _she_  hadn't given him  _his_  fair share of stitches. That's what friends were for, after all.

"I'm  _good_ ," she repeated. He just rolled his eyes, not bothering with a response and not looking back as he stalked out of the room. That was Mick – he  _never_  babied her. He respected her. And that's what she liked about him.

After he was gone, Sara realized she needed a few moments to just breathe. She wrapped her arms around her knees, dipping her nose into the crook of an elbow and resting her head.  _In and out,_ she intoned, the smell of sweat and skin somehow both cutting and adding to the nausea. _Breathe, Lance,_ she shuddered, air sticking in her throat.

She'd been dangerously off during that match with Mick. She pressed her eyes shut as flashes of the fight bubbled into her vision, taunting her. Her fist connecting with the mat. The top of her foot, arched up and kicking thin air. Mick's red face, just before he punched her. And another Mick, one who wasn't at the fight at all, but was lying face down and unconscious, cold gun propped against his side.

_No_.

Her eyes shot open. Well, that was enough  _breathing_. Her head felt too heavy for her neck as she lifted herself up, pushing off from the mat with both hands.

She stumbled to her tiny room, steadying on the doorframe as she tripped over the threshold. It took fewer steps to cross the space than she remembered; the bed rushed up to meet her as she reached under it for her first aid kit.

Like  _hell_  would she go to the med bay over a little scratch. Anyway, the only nights she slept anymore were the ones where she fell into bed too bruised and exhausted to think. Those nights were too few as it was – she wasn't going to let Gideon take one of them away.

She staggered over to the bathroom, getting her first look at her bloodied face in the mirror. She paused, watching her mouth form a small, silent "oh." She supposed she could see why Mick had suggested the med bay. Half her face was swollen, covered in dried blood from the sizable gash above her eyebrow. Under the blood, she could just see a lovely purple bruise starting to form around her temple, curling down to her cheek bone. She hadn't even realized she'd split her lip – it was swollen and bleeding, too. That would explain the metallic taste in her mouth.  _I'm a wreck,_ she thought distantly, unfazed. With clinical calmness, she nudged on the tap and started the slow process of washing it all away.  _At least_ this _I can fix._

An hour later saw her patched up and dozing in her bunk, disoriented and musing that she probably shouldn't sleep with a concussion.

In that weak space between waking and sleep, she suddenly remembered something that had been nagging at the back of her mind:  _It's three months today._ Three months since the Oculus, since the days when she could count the hours between losing Leonard and Laurel like a one-two gut punch from the universe. Three months, but it had only taken Sara a week to realize there was no bottom to the pit in her heart and no relief from the pain there – no escape from what was lying in wait, ready to consume her if she let it. So, largely, she didn't. Today was an exception, and she couldn't let it happen again.

A knock on the door pulled her from the twilight.

"Sara?" Ray's voice drifted from the other side.

She sighed, shifting out of her half-sleep. "What is it?" she called, irritated.

"Rip has a new mission for us," he explained. "We're meeting in the main in five." She sighed. Just her luck.

"I'll be there," she answered, grudgingly.

"Okay," he agreed, but hesitated. "Are you okay, Sara?"

"I'm  _fine_  Ray," she assured him, annoyed. If she found out Mick had said something to him though,  _Mick_  wouldn't be.

"Okay," Ray repeated. It might have been her imagination, but it felt like he lingered at the door a few moments longer than necessary before the sound of his footsteps carried him away. If he'd been thinking about saying something else to her, it was smart that he didn't.

Reluctantly, she peeled herself off the bed. She frowned at the mess of clothes strewn about her space, picking through a pile on the floor she thought was mostly clean and pulling out a pair of jeans and a black t-shirt. Unfortunately, getting dressed was harder than she'd hoped – she barely got one leg into the jeans before teetering back to lean against the bed.  _Pull it together, Lance_.

Out in the hall, the low hum of the Waverider's engine and the glare off the white fluorescent lights sent her head pounding. She rubbed her hand over her eyes, flinching when she accidentally brushed her cut. Rounding the corner, she felt herself slowing to a stop as she approached Leonard's room.

For a moment, she caught herself waiting for him. For a moment, she expected him to swagger out with that smug grin on his face and smart quip on his lips, ready to ask what disaster Rip had planned for them this time.

Of course, he didn't. She stared at the metal door for a few seconds, cringing as if she'd been slapped. She narrowed her eyes and turned away, face red and pulse quickening. How could it still startle her that he wasn't here? He wasn't  _anywhere_. Another wave of nausea hit, and briefly she thought she would puke right then and there, in front of his stupid door. That would've been fitting.

By sheer force of will, she started her feet moving again. At least Laurel had never been on the Waverider. She could forget her here, push those memories down to a place they couldn't touch her. But every goddamned little thing reminded her of Leonard. She hated him for it.

By the time Sara finally reached the bridge, the entire team (or what was left of it) was circled around the control table, waiting for her.

"Thank you for joining us, Miss Lance," Rip greeted her, but started – even jumped a little – as he noticed the state of her face. His eyes widened, and she had to repress a smirk. The concussion was almost worth it just for that. Not enough bothered Rip these days.

She appraised the others' reactions. Stein and Jax exchanged a look that seemed to say, " _That's horrifying," – "But are you surprised?"_ Ray only took one glance before his eyes darted away, eyebrows just slightly raised. She was right – he must have known. She was going to  _end_  Mick. Had he really sent  _Palmer_  to check on her?

She tried to catch Mick's eye, but he refused to acknowledge her. She hoped that meant he was just angry with her for being so stubborn about getting healed, because he couldn't possibly be feeling  _guilty_ , right? She and Mick had an arrangement: beat each other bloody until no one could feel anything anymore. That was the  _point_. But he kept on frowning and averting her gaze, even as she stood right across from him.

"Oh. Well. Okay then…" Rip shook off his surprise, deciding not to comment on her injuries and turning back to the team. "We have a new mission." Rip tapped a button on the control panel, causing a holo-image of a newspaper to appear before them in flickering light.

"Gideon has picked up on a time paradox originating at Central City National Bank in April of 1996." Sara shifted so she could get a better look at the headline, which read: "ATTEMPTED ROBBERY AT CENTRAL CITY'S LARGEST BANK." The story's black and white photo showed police officers swarming around the marble steps of the bank as a suspect, back turned, was being pushed into a police car.

"In the original timeline," Rip continued, "a small group of petty criminals was apprehended attempting to break into the bank's vaults. However, recently, things seem to have changed." Rip pressed another button, and a different version of the same newspaper appeared. The photo was the same, but this headline read: "ROBBERS AT LARGE FOLLOWING HEIST AT CENTRAL CITY NATIONAL BANK."

"In Gideon's most recent scans, somehow, two of the robbers managed to escape – with a hefty chunk of loot." Rip paused, looking around the room and making eye contact with each team member. "While it's difficult to understand how the paradox happened –" Rip started, and Sara had to resist rolling her eyes. She had a strong suspicion that their band of "legends" could be at fault. "– Or how it will affect the timeline after this moment, Gideon has started identifying more and more anomalies in time following this point." Rip pressed his hand to the screen, wiping the image of the newspaper away to ensure he had everyone's undivided attention. "All we know is that there  _could_  be catastrophic long-term effects. We  _must_  preserve the timeline."

Sara's eyes started wandering around the room.  _Blah, blah, blah, preserve the timeline. We get it._ Stein, Ray and Jax were all listening intently, good little boys. But then her eyes fell on Mick. He had a, well,  _curious_  look on his face. His brow was furrowed in concentration, his eyes rolled up to the ceiling as if lost in thought. His mouth was moving slightly, almost as if he were counting.

"That's why we're going back to this moment, Wednesday, April 24, 1996, to ensure the entire gang is arrested for the crime and…"

"Rip," Mick barked out their captain's name, interrupting. "We have a problem."

All eyes turned to him.

"In April of 1996, Snart and I were casing the Central City National Bank."

Well,  _that_  shut Rip up. The captain just stared at Mick for a moment, and Sara could feel the wheels turning in his mind as he thought through how that detail could affect the mission.

The calculation felt a little cold to her. Maybe because her heart rose into her throat and then plummeted to her stomach at just the mention of Leonard's name.

"Do you remember when you were there?" Rip asked.

"We were there  _that_  day," Mick confirmed. His look was distant. "We were planning on pulling the job that day ourselves – but Snart said something about it felt… _off_. So we didn't go through with it. Smart move, too, since the place was robbed by another group right after we left, and they were all arrested, like you said."

Traitor that it was, Sara's brain pushed forward a memory of a story Leonard had once told her. A story about a ring. It made her wish she could take another punch to the face.

"I see." Rip looked down pensively. "Well, we'd best not risk sending you in then, Mr. Rory. It could be perilous to the timeline if somehow you were seen and recognized by your younger self."

"But we're still going through with it?" Mick asked, eyebrows raised.

Rip shrugged. "If you weren't there at the moment the bank was attacked, it shouldn't change anything." By the troubled look on Mick's face, that justification didn't sit well with him.

Rip moved around the table, coming face-to-face with Sara.

"Ms. Lance," he started, twinge of apprehension in his voice. "I was going to assign this mission to you, but we will all understand if you – " Sara felt a flare of annoyance as heat rushed up her neck and ears.

"Please," she cut him off. "I'm a professional. It won't be a problem." How weak did they think she was?

"Alright," Rip agreed, reluctantly. "This mission is taking place in broad daylight, in a public space, with security cameras. So we must handle it with stealth, which means no Firestorm and no Atom. I had wanted to send Mr. Rory with you but given the risk..."

"It's  _fine_ ," Sara reiterated. "I think I can handle a few street thugs alone." She had to resist rolling her eyes. The way Rip was looking at her, concern etched in every line of his face, and the way Ray was frowning, and Mick was staring at the floor – it was unbearable.

"I can go with you," Rip suggested. Sara had to resist laughing.

"I'll be less conspicuous on my own. Besides, bringing a gun to a bank would be suspicious if we're caught, and you're not much for hand-to-hand combat, Rip."

He gave her a hard look, and she could tell he was debating whether to argue the point. She returned the look with her own  _test me and this time I won't hesitate_ stare, and in the end, she won the standoff. He nodded.

"If you insist. But let Gideon take care of your face first, for God's sake. You'll frighten children looking like that. And take a break from sparring with Mr. Rory for the time being."

Sara smirked. "Alright then, Rip.  _You_  can be my new partner." Mick didn't even bother hiding his laugh. They all knew she could kick Rip's ass in her sleep. Although, it might make for a good recovery day.

"I'm going to go prepare," she said, and to her that settled it. She turned her back on the rest of the group, setting a determined pace as she left the bridge.

"Sara, wait." Mick had followed her into the hall, footsteps echoing behind her on the grated metal floor. She barely spared him a glance as she kept walking.

"What is it, Mick?"  _I'm annoyed enough with you as it is._

He walked behind her for a few steps, until he was sure they were out of earshot of the others. "Sara, stop." When she didn't, he reached out and grabbed her by the wrist.  _Big mistake._ She whirled on him, seething.

"What?" She snapped. "Think I can't handle even the  _thought_  of seeing him again?"

"Odds are, you  _are_  going to see us," he warned. "We were leaving right before that other group came in. But we're not going to be the same."

Something in her broke at the reminder. "I know that," she spat, ripping her arm from his grasp.

"We won't remember you," he added.

"I know!" She glared at him. "I can do this. You don't have to worry about me messing up the mission."

"That's not what I'm worried about," he countered.

"Well, don't worry at all." She squeezed her right hand with her left – the better to keep from hitting him. "I could eat these chumps for breakfast," she assured him. "I won't let seeing you and Snart distract me. Besides, like you said, you'll be gone by the time the action hits."

Mick threw a hand up in frustration. "Rip's a bastard. I can't believe he's asking you to do this."

"He knows I can handle it," she bluffed, feigning indifference. Mick shook his head, face growing red and splotchy.

"No," he growled. "He  _doesn't_. I saw Snart in 2013. I'll tell you right now this is asking for pain."

She folded her arms across her chest, staring him down. "I said, I can  _handle_ it."

He exhaled long and hard, rubbing his hand over his face. He was quiet for a few moments, thinking. She watched his eyes drift down, and his body seemed to slump a little. When he finally spoke, there was something hollow in his voice. "If you're going to go," he relented, "I want you to have this."

Suddenly, he was holding out a familiar, silver ring.

Everything went very, very still. Sara's heart stopped and then started again at double pace, pounding in her ears.

Her voice became very quiet. "And  _why_  would I need  _that_?" she demanded, staring at the ring like it might burn her, like it might brand her forever if she so much as touched it.

Mick leaned in, lowering his voice as well. "If this goes sideways," he started, glancing between the ring and Sara for emphasis. "And you  _know_ it will." He shook his head. "I don't want to think about you winding up on the bad side of young me. If you crossed him, he wouldn't hesitate. He'd put you down."

"Mick," Sara sighed, exasperated. "That's not going to happen. I'm not going to the bank to stop  _you_  – we won't even interact."

"Rip said  _something_  about the timeline changed," Mick argued. "We don't know what. We  _don't know_. If something goes wrong, and you end up on the wrong end of my gun,  _this_ ," he shook the ring, "could distract me enough to give you an opening."

Sara shook her head. "Mick, even if that did happen, I think I could take you."

But Mick seemed to feel differently. His eyes wandered slowly over her face, over her lip, and the bruise, coming to rest on the gash above her forehead. Her stomach dropped.

She groaned. "What am I going to say? ' _I know you in the future_ '?"

Mick grunted. "Just  _take it_."

It was too much. But he wasn't backing down, and however she felt she couldn't reject it, not when he was looking at her like she was someone else he might lose.

"Alright." She gave in. She held open her hand, and he dropped it into her palm. She curled her fingers tightly around the cold metal, and he nodded, satisfied.

"Thank you," he mumbled, stepping back from her.

Sara turned away. She wasn't used to Mick showing any kind of feeling, let alone for her. It left an uncomfortable lump in her throat. Finally, she spoke again. "I have to get ready."

He let her pass without another word.

She let her feet carry her to the med bay without much conscious thought. She hated to admit Rip was right, but she  _would_  attract far less attention if she didn't look like she'd just been in some horrible accident. And, she supposed it was better for her coordination to let Gideon speed-heal her concussion.

To the AI's credit, she didn't say anything as Sara climbed onto the patient's chair. A light scan of her body began immediately, and Sara let herself relax as the gentle tingling from Gideon's laser started on her forehead.

She laid there for a long time before she found the courage to peek at the ring still clutched between her fingers. It was plain but heavy, and the pattern in the metal felt interesting against her skin. She played with it for a while, trying it on different fingers. It was too big for her pinkies, even though that's where Leonard had worn it. In the end she decided it really looked best on the ring finger of her left hand. Then she snorted, flopping her hand down to her stomach and out of sight. But. Something told her Snart would find that amusing, so she left it.

A moment later, her fingers clenched at a sudden, piercing pain in her chest. When Gideon didn't react, she knew it had nothing to do with her injuries – it was a familiar ache, the same one she felt anytime she let herself think too long about what…about who…she'd lost. She sucked in a sharp breath, closing her eyes against the reflex to cry out. The blood rushed to her face so fast she could feel her heartbeat in her temples, angry and relentless. She released the air, forcing her fingertips apart.  _Deep breaths,_ she told herself.  _In and out_.  _I am Ta-er al-Safar. I am not helpless. I am strong. I am stronger than this_.

Gideon's soothing voice announced that she was fully healed. Slowly, Sara sat up. She let her legs dangle over the side of the chair and leaned back into her palms, head hanging so low her chin almost touched her chest.  _Come on, Lance. You are stronger than this._

Somehow, she found herself in the fabrication room. Out of habit, she swiped through the options on the control panel, cringing at the sight of Gideon's suggested outfits.  _Really, Gideon? Overalls?_ That was worse than when the AI had suggested Sara wear a dress to the Wild West. She scrolled past bright colors, tacky plaid and baggy jeans – really, it was a blessing she'd just been a kid in this decade. She finally settled for tight-fitting, high-wasted jeans (those weren't  _so_  bad), with a light blue wash and rips down the front. She selected a black crop top to go with, and skimpy as it was, the jeans were so high it barely showed an inch of skin at her waist. At least combat boots were trendy in the nineties, so she could wear her own.

"The temperature on April 24, 1996 was a cool 51 degrees Fahrenheit," Gideon informed her. "You may want to consider a jacket, Ms. Lance."

Sara shrugged, returning to the screen. She'd need somewhere to hide her weapons, anyway. Gideon suggested all manner of jean jackets, which Sara quickly rejected in favor of leather. She opened the customization settings, choosing a silver-white leather that reminded her of the White Canary suit.

"In the nineteen-nineties, black leather was  _much_  more common – " Gideon started, but Sara cut her off. "Don't care. Just make it."

Sara was carefully inspecting the straps on the inside of the jacket when she heard footsteps approaching.

"Hey Sara," Ray said lightly. He came up behind her, looking at her jacket quizzically. "Are those for…"

"My knives?" she finished for him. "Yeah. Never leave home without 'em."

"Ahh…right…" Ray backed up slowly, cautiously turning to the screen. It was satisfying that after all this time, she could still make Pretty Boy nervous.

"What're you doing here, Ray?" she asked suspiciously.

"Jax and I are going to be your getaway drivers," he explained, looking through clothing options. "Overalls! Man, that takes me back." He was actually smiling. "You know, I think I still have a pair of these."

Sara rolled her eyes. "Ray, you used to get beat up for lunch money, didn't you?"

" _Used_  to?" he asked, tilting his head. "I was bullied into buying Mick lunch last week."

That  _almost_  made Sara smile, until she realized that's what he'd been going for. She shrugged on her jacket, just turning to leave when a little  _ding_  from the fabricator distracted her.

"Wait!" Ray ordered. He grabbed something she couldn't see.

"What?" she groaned, a little more bite in her voice than he probably deserved.

"I had Gideon make this for you," he explained, innocently holding out a  _rainbow tie-dye hair scrunchie_. "Just what your outfit was missing, right?"

She gaped, momentarily speechless. Then she glared at him, snatching the scrunchie from his hand. "You'll be lucky if I don't use this to kill you in your sleep," she threatened.

He grinned at her. "To go down in history as the man responsible for Sara Lance owning a  _scrunchie_?" he teased. "I'll take that risk."

Oh, he was testing her. She thought about flinging the scrunchie at his face, just to prove she'd meant it – but pocketed it instead, deciding to keep the threat alive for another time. The stupid grin on his face just broadened at that.

She pointed a finger at him. "Watch your back, Palmer," she warned, brushing by him and out into the hall.

In her room, she organized her knives and staff into the jacket. She stopped in front the mirror, sighing. Her face was healed, but she still looked disheveled, her hair a wild mess. Times like these she  _really_  missed Kendra. She worked the front pieces of her hair back, tying them into a little ponytail.  _That's kind of nineties-ish, right?_ The mirror wasn't encouraging. Groaning a little under her breath, she pulled it out again.  _Whatever._ Maybe she could pass for grunge.

She stared at her reflection. And finally admitted it to herself: It was unreal, actually impossible, that Leonard Snart might see her today. That she might see  _him_. And it was absolutely sick that a tiny piece of her hoped she  _would_  see him – hoped he would even just  _glance_  in her direction. Even though she knew it would be the last time… She would gladly replace  _anything_  with the memory of his face when she pulled away from their first, from their last, kiss.

"Ms. Lance, we're ready to make the time jump." Rip's voice echoed out of the ship's comms.

She pressed the intercom button on the wall. "On my way."

Back on the bridge, Sara watched her teammates settling into their seats. She took the place next to Jax, averting her eyes from the three empty chairs and trying not to think about who should have been sitting there. She slid her left hand under her thigh.

"Everyone ready?" Rip asked, taking his own place at the pilot's seat. Sara felt a twinge of jealousy. She liked that seat herself. But then Rip was spinning around, commanding Gideon to take them away. He pushed the lever into gear, and with a jerk at her navel, they were hurtling through time.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all the kind feedback and support so far! I really appreciate it, and hope you all enjoy this trip to the nineties. Special thanks to ClaudiaRain for reading through this and offering so many great suggestions! Disclaimer: I don't own LoT or any associated characters.

_**Central City – April 24, 1996** _

As it turned out, their "getaway car" was a red Honda Civic.

"Reliable," was how Ray put it – always looking at the bright side. Jax was staring at it with open disgust, but in Sara's opinion it wasn't even close to as offensive as what he was wearing: an over-sized, bright yellow cap (brim flipped up) and a puffy windbreaker covered in all shades of neon colors and tribal patterns.

"Jax, the _Fresh Prince_ called. He wants his outfit back."

The kid grinned, holding his arms out to show off the look and seeming damn pleased with himself.

"But I pull it off though, right? _And_ I'm better lookin' than Will Smith."

She smirked, shaking her head. "Debatable. But let's just get this show on the road," she suggested, folding herself into the back seat.

"Ah, Ms. Lance," Rip caught her door as she reached for the handle. She thought about pulling it shut anyway as he leaned in.

"Remember," he said, "it's imperative that you take out all five robbers before they have a chance to make it to the vaults. It's a maze down there, so you likely won't be able to find them if they get that far."

"Well, I was _planning_ to take my time and _play_ with them before taking them out, but I guess I can be more efficient," she deadpanned. Rip let go of the door just in time to save his fingers as she shut it in his face.

The ride to Central City National Bank seemed to take an eternity with Ray in the driver's seat. Sara pressed her forehead against the window and groaned as he came to yet another _full and complete_ stop at a stop sign. Fifteen minutes, and they had yet to reach the city proper. She barely resisted pounding her head against the glass.

Jax seemed to be feeling the same way. From the front passenger seat, he reached for the radio dial and turned it on, searching restlessly through the stations.

"Oh, I love this song!" Ray threw out a hand to stop Jax changing the station. The nostalgic croon of harmonica and upbeat jingle of tambourine filled the car. And then, to her horror, Ray started singing _._ " _Anywhere you go, I'll follow you down…I'll follow you down, but not that far –"_

"Nope," Jax jammed the seek button, cutting Ray off. Sara shuddered – Ray's singing voice was _League of Assassins_ -level torture-worthy.

Unfortunately, Ray knew the next song, too. "Hootie and the Blowfish!" He turned up the volume dial until the incomprehensible warble of the singer's voice – even worse combined with Ray's – blasted her ears. _Ugh._ To her relief, Jax switched the station before Ray could get started again. His face fell for a second, until he realized he knew the _next_ song, too.

" _Because maaaaybe, you're gonna be the one that saves me!_ " Sara groaned at the whine of Ray's off-pitch voice backed by acoustic guitar and _more_ tambourine.

She threw her hands over her ears. "It's going to be stuck in my head for _days_!" she cried.

_Bzzzt._ Jax jabbed the station seek button yet again.

Not to be deterred, Ray immediately took up the chorus of _Gangsta's Paradise –_ head bopping in time with the _ooohs_ and _ahhhs_ of the heavy beat. Well, at least it didn't have harmonica.

"Wow," Jax cringed and closed his eyes against Ray's _rapping_. "Just, no."

She couldn't have agreed more, although she did have to give Ray credit for knowing all the words. Jax changed stations _again_ , but Sara couldn't take any more. She leaned over them both, shutting the radio off with a glare.

"But, _Breakfast at Tiffany's_ …"

"Stop pouting and just drive, Ray." Sara flopped back against the seat. She folded her arms across her chest and rolled her eyes to the ceiling. _Could this day get any worse?_

The rest of the ride passed without incident, and Sara realized she'd been dozing when Ray finally pulled to a stop.

"You know, 10:20 a.m. seems like a pretty weird time to rob a bank," Jax was saying.

"Mick said it's the slowest time of day for banks," Ray explained. "Something about, 'fewer customers, fewer tellers, fewer variables and fewer witnesses.'"

Sara snorted at that. Maybe it was just her, but Ray was starting to sound like Mick's criminal protégée.

"What's my cover again?" she asked, lazily leaning her cheek against the driver's seat and yawning. "If I can't get out of there before the cops show up?"

"Don't let that happen!" Rip's voice cut in over her earpiece. "But…if, in the very unfortunate event that it does, you're an innocent bystander. You're just in the wrong place at the wrong time. When you saw the robbery, you decided to intervene, that's all."

"And _how_ will I explain being able to take out five guys on my own?" It'd be nice if Rip could think things through, for once.

"Does it matter?" Rip scoffed. "You can tell them you compete in an underground, all-female mixed martial arts ring for all I care. Extracting you will be a challenge regardless, if you have to answer any questions."

Well, she liked the sound of that _much_ more than Rip's tone. "Is it too late to quit the team and start my own all-female MMA ring?"

"Har, har, Ms. Lance. Get going, it's almost time."

Sara sighed, slapping her hands on her knees. "Alright boys, mama's got to get to work."

Ray twisted around in his seat to face her. "This is our rendezvous point," he reminded her. "The bank is less than half a block north. If all goes to plan, we should see you back here in about…" he glanced at his watch, "…thirty minutes." _Right_. Sara let herself out of the car with a little stretch.

She was halfway across the street when she heard quiet voices in her ear.

" _Think she's okay to handle this?"_ Jax was asking.

" _I think…that she can hear you over the comm,"_ Ray answered.

Sara half-turned to see Jax leaning out of the passenger window, waving sheepishly.

"Good luck!" he wished her, falsely bright. _Uh-huh._ She decided to let it slide – this time. She'd have the last word when she proved them all wrong.

"Won't need it," she called back over her shoulder. Luck was never on their side, anyway.

The bank was even larger and more imposing than it had appeared in the newspaper photo. All white and done in Greco-Roman style, it was one of the city's oldest buildings, standing in stark contrast to the dark steel of newer developments around it. Sara took the marble steps slowly, feeling dwarfed by the two-story columns flanking the bank's revolving door.

Inside, the architecture was somehow even more impressive. The domed ceiling and story-high windows stretched up above her, and she had to tilt her head back to admire the ornate moldings and frosted, orbed lamps that lined the walls. It was a large, cavernous space, with tellers' booths against the back wall and small, semi-open offices to her right and left. She counted a dozen on either side, separated by dark wood and smoky glass. They were all empty – must be left over from a time gone by.

It was all very grand, and she could see why her crook had been tempted to rob the place. Then she frowned. _Not mine_.

In the middle of the room were tables for filling out deposit and withdrawal slips, and a handful of customers lingered around them. It really was a ghost town though, so eerily quiet that even the smallest sounds of pens scratching against paper echoed unnaturally.

"You're actually a bit early, Ms. Lance," Rip's voice interrupted her assessment. "There's a corridor to the right of the tellers with a drinking fountain – go take a drink and _try_ not to look too suspicious."

_You're lucky I can't talk back, Hunter_.

She walked casually across the room, using the opportunity to take a closer look at the bystanders who were about to get caught up in this messy heist. There were only two tellers on duty, one attending a harried-looking mother, who was swatting away her whining, pig-tailed daughter with one hand while filling out paperwork with the other. A middle-aged businessman was standing at the table closest to her, staring grimly at a withdrawal slip. She noticed his rumpled collar and frown – down on his luck, perhaps. A pretty, dark-skinned young woman was at another table, shadowed by a bored-looking young man. Boyfriend, Sara guessed, by the way his hand hovered at her waist.

At the far table were two men in black leather jackets, backs turned to her. She supposed they _could_ be Rory and Snart – but the bigger one had far too much hair, and besides, she'd convinced herself on the walk over that they'd be gone by now. She'd had to tell herself that, to force her feet through the door in the first place.

No one even looked her way as she passed.

She entered the hallway, leaving the main room behind her. It stretched to the back of the building, farther than she'd thought, a glowing _EXIT_ sign tiny above a double set of doors. The wall to her right was lined with second-story windows, filling the area with bright, natural light and shining on the brushed metal doors of an elevator to her left. She strolled down the white tile, conscious of the ring of her footsteps. Even the small sounds of scratching pens were distant here, and the heavy quiet pressed down on her when she finally came to a stop.

She leaned down to the solitary, old-fashioned drinking fountain, pulling her hair back with a hand and taking a drink. The water was cold and coppery against her tongue, distracting her for a moment from the fight she was all too ready to start.

That's when she heard it – echoing footsteps approaching from around the corner. She lifted her head slightly, startled, turning just in time to see a large and imposing young man enter the hallway.

For a second, she thought nothing of it, merely noting his black leather jacket and confident stride. And then she sputtered, eyes widening and nearly choking as she realized it was the one-and-only _Mick Rory_.

But it couldn't be, could it? With that thick and wavy dark brown hair? Oh, she was going to give him _so_ much crap about that hair. Save for a scowl, the skin on his face was entirely smooth, and it was disconcerting to see him without the scars and lines she was so used to, and had grown so fond of.

He barely spared her a glance as he approached, eyes moving smoothly from her to the back doors and sticking there. Her mouth quirked at the expression on his face – part boredom, part _totally pissed off_ , all Mick. It was endearing to see it on such a young (and alright, handsome) version of him. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched him clench and unclench his fists as he passed, and it was so amusing, she forgot, _forgot_ what seeing him really meant.

She straightened at the sound of a second set of steps, turning unconsciously to face the hallway opening. Another figure rounded the corner, slowly, dreamlike –

It was _him_.

And it wasn't.

She lost all sense of gravity. And she was floating, no, _falling,_ slipping away as his face came into view. Dizzy and breathless, all she could do was stare.

His hair was so _dark_. He was wearing it longer, if just a little – just enough that his widow's peak was almost unnoticeable. She'd never thought he'd looked old, but maybe that was because she'd never seen him so young. His face was fuller, and he was handsome in such a soft way it disquieted her.

Their eyes met.

The world unraveled.

And she was _not_ stronger than this.

_Look away, Lance_ , a small voice said. _Look away now._ But she couldn't, she _couldn't_ , and somehow, he didn't either. No, those lightning blue eyes locked on her, unwavering as he came closer and closer.

He held her gaze so long she started to think it was a challenge, or a question, or a promise – she couldn't decide. As he closed the space between them, he suddenly changed course, swerving nearer to her as he passed. She turned, body following his movements involuntarily, leaning back on the fountain as he leaned toward her. For a moment there was nothing but inches between them, and then that moment was gone.

He'd passed her, but his head turned, and then his whole upper body twisted, and he even walked backwards for a step, holding her prisoner in his stare until the last possible second.

Then he was following Mick out into the bright gray light. The doors slammed behind them, echoing hollowly in the empty space they'd left behind.

She let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. "That was _so_ weird," she muttered, forcing the tremor out of her voice.

"What happened?" Mick's voice, _her_ Mick, came over the comm.

"I saw you guys," she admitted, pacing in front of the fountain and shaking the tremble out of her hands. "We are going to have a _long_ talk about your hair when I get back." Her voice sounded falsely bright, even to her own ears.

Mick grunted. "Where are we now?"

"Gone," she sighed. "You left out the back door."

"Good." Mick's tone was short, but the hint of relief in it wasn't lost on her.

"Those doors are locked from the outside," Rip chimed in, "so that should be the last you see of them."

Sara nodded to herself, taking a deep breath. Her racing heart was uncomfortably tight in her chest.

"It's time to get in position," Rip added.

"Alright." She steadied herself, pushing the moment behind her, stuffing the memory back to a dark space where she could inspect it later. For now, she had a job to do. "I'm moving in."

By the time she returned to the main room, the scene had shifted a bit. Beauty and Boyfriend were still leaning over a slip she couldn't see, talking quietly to one another. Unlucky Business had moved to the teller's window, which meant he would be directly in the way of the would-be robbers. Not much she could do for him, but Pigtails and Mom were moving her way.

She sidled up to the nearest table, pulling a withdrawal slip in front of her and catching Mom's eye as she neared.

"Excuse me," Sara said sweetly, drawing the pair closer. "Do you know today's date?"

From the corner of her eye, she saw black figures rushing the revolving door. She used the moment's notice to grab the little girl's hand, pulling her off to the side.

For a beat, confusion flashed across Mom's face. Then the room erupted in chaos.

The robbers filed in one by one, breaking the line upon entry and swarming into the space. They were dressed head-to-toe in black, full face masks leaving only holes for their eyes and mouths. The leader stopped in the center of the tables, throwing his arm up and shooting a bullet at the ceiling.

"Hands up!" he ordered.

Another robber shot in the direction of the tellers' booths, shattering the glass. The tellers were cowering, crouched over and ducking behind the counter. Unlucky Business slid to the ground, holding his arms over his head. _Now or never_. Sara leapt onto the table, kicking it over as she propelled herself forward. Briefly, she hoped that Mom and Pigtails would use it as a shield.

"Get down," she hissed back at them. Then they were forgotten as she slipped into the razor-sharp focus of the fight.

She landed catlike between three of the robbers, and one was down before any of them knew what was happening. Her body moved without thought, spinning and twisting, adrenaline and muscle memory guiding every motion. Another robber fell with a snap of her staff. She kicked the third in the chest, knocking him backward. He teetered, unbalanced, and she smirked as his mouth formed a surprised "oh" shape in the face of his mask. It was a moment's work to flip him over, using his weight against him to finish him off.

When she glanced up, she saw the fourth robber holding Beauty and Boyfriend at gunpoint, ushering Unlucky Business to join them in the corner. And the last robber was pointing a gun straight at her head.

"That's enough, hero," he warned, voice low and threatening.

Cautiously, she set her staff down and raised her hands up. _This could be worse,_ she told herself, trying to stay calm, but she wasn't really sure _how_. Standing in front of the tellers' counter, the robber was too far away to reach, and she'd never be able to rush him in this point-blank range. She considered him, wondering if he had the guts to pull the trigger before she could reach for her knives.

But he didn't give her the chance to decide.

She felt the impact before she heard the shot, a heavy weight knocking the wind out of her and pushing her to the ground as a loud _crack_ reverberated in her ears.

The bank's tile was cool against her cheek as she hit it, hard. For a moment, she was too disoriented to move, muscles tight and anticipating the hot flash of pain.

But it never came. Slowly, she opened her eyes. And started at the sight of an all-too familiar face just an inch from hers, blue eyes wide and reflecting her own.

_Leonard_.

She inhaled sharply, mind reeling. She suddenly realized he was half on top of her, arm draped across her back and legs tangled with hers. How he got that way, she'd no idea. Unless…

It hit her harder than any bullet: This 20-something Leonard Snart had just pushed her out of the line of fire. He'd saved her wretched life, _damn_ him.

"You shouldn't be here," she growled, shoving him away.

He scowled. "You're _welcome_."

The sarcastic tilt to his voice was disarmingly familiar, and she cringed at the memories it conjured.

Closing her eyes, she rolled away, swallowing hard and sucking in deep breaths to slow her pounding heart. _This isn't happening, how is this happening, why did he come back, why is he_ _even_ _here_ –

She shoved the questions away, grabbing her staff and leaping up, eyes sweeping over the room. Beauty and Boyfriend were holding each other in the corner, Unlucky Business silently weeping beside them. The bodies of three unconscious robbers littered the floor. The others were nowhere in sight.

_Shit._

"If you're looking to take out a couple more _armed robbers_ ," Leonard was on his knees, glaring at her and pointing to the tellers' counter. "They went _that_ way."

_Shit. Shit. Shit._ Rip had been pretty specific about stopping all of them before they could get to the vaults. And how many had gotten away? Two. The papers had said _two_ robbers escaped the heist. _Shit_.

She huffed in frustration, racing to the counter and throwing herself over, sliding through the broken glass. The tellers were sprawled on the floor, and she took a moment to kneel down and check – alive, thankfully, but –

The moment cost her. Before she could even stand up, another body had thrown itself over the counter, and suddenly young Leonard was standing beside her, looking cool as all hell.

_This isn't happening, this isn't happening, this isn't –_

She pushed down the twisted relief she felt at the sight of him. " _What_ are you doing?" she demanded.

"I'm going with you," he said, as if it were obvious. "Or do _you_ know your way through the vaults?"

"Do _you_?"

He raised his eyebrows, gesturing to the open doorway beyond them. "Let's just say I'm a good guesser."

_This cannot be happening_. "You're not armed!" she protested, throwing her hand up in frustration.

He stared at her, incredulous. "You're the one with a stick! Obviously _I'm_ armed." He pulled a hand gun out of his jacket.

Oh. _Obviously_.

Suddenly, she realized Rip's urgent voice was fighting for her attention, had been, for a while now. " _What's happening, Sara? Sara, come in!"_ She ignored it, instead glancing between the open door and Leonard. She was torn – he couldn't be involved in this, she _had_ to tell him to leave – but Rip's voice was so loud in her ear and he was _here,_ and she really wouldn't find them on her own –

"Fine," she gritted her teeth, jabbing her comm off. "You know where they went?" He nodded, again, as if it were obvious. She closed her eyes, unable to believe what she was about to say: "Then lead the way."

He did, without hesitation. The narrow hall beyond was cool and dark, and as it twisted she sensed the floor sloping downward. They took it at a sprint, and he navigated fork after fork, never wavering, never pausing, taking each turn with a confident ease. _How many times has he practiced this route?_

Finally, he threw out an arm to stop her. They were approaching another turn, and he glanced back at her, moving a finger to his lips to indicate _quiet_. Around the corner, a security guard was lying unconscious, face down on the floor. They had to be getting close.

She crept behind him until they came upon a vault, metal door swung open on its hinges. Sara could hear faint _clinking_ noises from the other side and nearly fainted in relief. The robbers hadn't gotten away yet.

She moved around Leonard, making to rush the vault – but – he grabbed her by the arm and pulled her roughly back against him.

She froze as his chin shook back and forth against the top of her head: _No_.

Slowly, he released her, turning his wrist to show her the face of his watch. She could almost hear his thoughts… _Wait for it…_

He moved his hand away and she felt him press three fingers lightly against her neck, tapping them once. _On my count_. Her skin prickled at his touch, and it was a struggle to concentrate. She tensed against his warm breath in her ear, and his chest at her back, so close she could feel his pounding heart…

He lifted one finger, then another: _Three, two, one –_

She was ready when he pulled away, her staff colliding with the robber who sprang out of the vault. The second robber was just behind, and he ran right into the barrel of Leonard's gun.

Leonard pressed it to his temple. "Drop it," he ordered, and the robber obeyed, letting go of his own gun and a large sack of _something_. Sara gave him a _whack_ to the forehead, and he crumpled to the floor.

She sagged in relief, taking a few deep breaths and willing her racing heart to calm. The adrenaline was fading fast and as it did, the reality of the situation hit her harder and harder. _He's here,_ a desperate part of her whispered. _It's not him,_ the rational part replied. _But it is,_ she argued. _But you can't have him._

She felt entirely disconnected from her body as she turned to face him. It was like she'd stepped into a dream, and the whole world was off-kilter, spinning maddeningly out of her control.

But he wasn't looking at her. No, he was staring at the bag of goods at the robbers' feet. He crouched down, appraising the size. "Tell me this is the part where we rob the robbers," he said.

She felt her mouth quirking up in a smile until she saw the look on his face – he wasn't kidding, he was _serious_. Oh, of _course_ he wanted the goods for himself, who was she talking to? He'd planned this heist himself, after all (and had apparently timed it down to the second). She groaned – she couldn't let him take anything, but she didn't want him to get caught, either.

Her staff was at his neck before she could think twice.

"Touch it and you'll end up like one of the crew," she warned.

Slowly, his eyes wandered up her body, coming to rest on her frowning face. He glared at her. "That's not the tune you were singing when I saved your hide," he taunted, hand clenching the gun still hanging at his side.

"Five against one was a little much," she admitted, pressing the staff into his neck. "But I'll still have you for dessert."

He was still for a hard, tense moment. Finally, he shrugged, dropping his gun. He made a show of sighing, long and slow, rolling his eyes. "I was afraid it might be like that…"

Sara released a breath and stepped away from him. For a second she'd been sure he'd try to shoot her, and it reminded her so forcibly of the time he'd pulled his cold gun on her that she had to suppress a shudder. But she pushed that memory aside.

"We need to get out of here," she insisted.

He stood, looking her over, considering her. "No," he said, "in that case…we're not going _anywhere_."

Well, _that_ was unexpected. "What?" she gaped.

He kicked his gun away. "Innocents don't run from the scene of the crime," he pointed out. "If we're not stealing anything…" his blue eyes met hers in a question, as if he was hoping she'd change her mind. She didn't. "Then we're waiting to give our statements."

_This isn't happening_. "You brought a gun to a bank," she argued, flabbergasted. "Do you know how suspicious that looks?"

He smirked, folding his arms across his chest. "Yeah," he agreed, "came in pretty handy, didn't it? And I'm on security feed with that gun right now." He took a step closer to her. "We run, and I'll have the heat on my tail for who knows how long." He shook his head. "No thanks. Let's get this over with."

_How is this happening?_ She didn't want to leave him here, but Rip had also been pretty specific about her not getting questioned by the police. "Fine," she snapped. "You stay. But I'm leaving before it's too late."

He tilted his head to the side and lifted his wrist, tapping his watch. "It's already too late."

Suddenly she could hear the distant wail of a siren and footsteps pounding above them. _Shit_.

He looked away, toward the sound of shouting voices. She took advantage of his distraction to flip her comm back on, gulping as she did. They were standing over nearly-stolen goods, and she was there with _Leonard Snart_ , after all. She was starting to realize how guilty they looked, and she doubted the police would just let them go.

"I think I'm about to get arrested," she said to her earpiece, struggling to keep her voice calm. "But I've got it covered." She was going to get _hell_ for this from Rip.

Leonard glanced back at her, frowning, a confused wrinkle in his forehead. Yeah, that probably sounded strange to him, but there was nothing for it. She could just imagine Ray bursting in with his high-tech Atom suit if she didn't let them know she was okay. No, it was already a disaster, no need to make it even worse.

" _Sara, what the hell is going on –"_

The pounding steps grew louder, closer, and Leonard turned away again. She flipped her comm back off, ripping it out of her ear and shoving it in her boot for good measure. It probably wouldn't mesh with her "innocent bystander" story if the cops noticed it.

And then the cops were there, guns out and shouting. She put her hands up, trying to stay calm.

"Your robbers are on the ground," she tried, pointing a foot at the unconscious men. "We just caught them for you."

But all eyes were on Leonard. "Fancy seeing you here, Mr. Snart," the lead police officer said. Great, of _course_ they recognized him.

"Officer Daley!" Leonard greeted him like an old friend. "I got you a present," he added, voice turning suggestive.

"You shouldn't have," Daley countered, sidling up behind Leonard and patting him down.

"You know, I'm surprised how easy your job is," Leonard continued, tone mockingly light. "You always make it look so hard!" Daley ignored him, pulling out handcuffs.

Leonard took it in stride, turning to the group at large. "Alright, who's got the Polaroid?" He raised his voice, eyes scanning the crowd. "I want one with Daley in front of the goons over here – ouch, not so rough," he added, as Daley pinched his skin in the cuffs. "Trust me, boys, you'll want to remember today!"

Daley actually laughed at that, and meanwhile another officer had finally gotten around to patting Sara down. "Huh," he said, and she cringed. How had she forgotten? Her _knives._

"Off," the officer ordered, and she held her arms out for him to remove her jacket. Across from her, Leonard's eyebrows shot up in surprise as he caught sight of the knives she'd kept tucked away. Under other circumstances, the look on his face would have been hilarious – cute, even. She'd always loved taking him off guard, but this...it wasn't _him_. That's what she had to keep telling herself.

"Well," Leonard drawled, eyes raking over her with renewed interest. " _Those_ would've been better than the stick in a _gun fight_." Maybe, but a little deadlier than what she'd been going for…although she wished she'd used them now. She certainly wouldn't be in this position if she had.

The narrow hall was too tight for all the people now crowded in it, and more and more kept filing in. The officer pulled Sara's hands roughly behind her back, and she found her face most unfortunately pushed up against Leonard's chest. _Oh, it just gets better and better_.

She felt the rumble of his chuckle against her cheek. He leaned down, speaking softly in her ear. "Why _knives_?"

She bent her neck back, glaring up at him as she was cuffed from behind, and feigned a bravado she didn't feel. "A gun is a coward's weapon."

Suddenly she realized she was eye level with his lips, and her breath caught in her throat. She let her gaze flit up to his eyes, uncomfortable tug at her gut when she realized he was staring at her lips, too. She swallowed. "And…" His eyes moved back to hers, and she was leaning into him, too unsteady to stand. She lost control of her voice. "A knife is _so_ much more intimate. Don't you think?"

Then the officers were pulling them away, shoving them down the hallway and back into the harsh reality above.

_You are in so much trouble, Lance. So much goddamned trouble. And you'd better stop enjoying it._


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back - in the 90s! Thanks so much for all the kind feedback and support on the last chapter. I'm so glad you guys liked it and hope you enjoy this one too! Fun fact, all of the 90s scene was supposed to be one chapter, but thanks to ClaudiaRain and all of her hilarious suggestions it's now going to be three (hopefully I can stick to that and eventually get back around to the actual fix-it plot - we'll see). So yes, thanks again ClaudiaRain for all your input and for looking this over (twice)! Disclaimer: I don't own LoT.

**Central City – April 24, 1996**

_Riotous._

That was the only word Sara could think to describe the crowded mess of police officers, reporters and bystanders waiting outside of the bank. _This was always going to happen_ , she reminded herself, glaring at anyone who met her eye and struggling not to feel responsible for the spectacle. With the scream of sirens blasting in her ears and the sight of Leonard's cuffed hands before her, it wasn't easy.

She frowned, wondering what her teammates were thinking. They'd yet to come to her rescue, which was the good news. That must mean they trusted her to get out of this on her own. She couldn't imagine what story she would tell them about what happened – obviously not the truth.

She snorted just imagining how that would go. _Yeah guys, I almost got shot but Leonard saved me, no big deal. Everything with the mission went to hell of course and we got arrested, you know, the usual. Oh right, I know_ our _Leonard's dead and all, it was the past version of him. Why would I find that upsetting?_

She was grateful she'd turned her comm off, and that it was tucked safely in her boot. The tech was so advanced, it only picked up sound right next to a speaker's mouth, so even if it were on, no one would hear a thing. Which meant she was entirely on her own.

Well, except for the 20-something crook who'd come to her rescue.

She had to admit, he was here because of her. But she had no idea _why_. Why he'd come back into the bank. Why he'd saved her life. Why he'd led her into the vaults to stop the robbers. Had he really thought it was worth the risk for the off chance they'd come out with the goods themselves? It wasn't like him to put himself in danger without a plan, when there was so much that could've gone wrong.

Maybe he was just more impulsive at this age. Or more arrogant, as if that were possible.

He certainly didn't seem bothered by their predicament. They were separated in the line by Officer Daley and a few others, sirens and shouting voices making it impossible to hear him. But she could see his lips moving, curved up at the edges as he turned to give Daley what she could only assume was a string of colorfully snide remarks. He was acting suspiciously like he was having fun – and it made her want to smack him.

Or maybe, she thought, she could just kiss that stupid smirk off his face. Or whisper in his ear about what "fun in handcuffs" should _really_ look like, or –

No. She shouldn't, couldn't let herself go there. But once she started that train of thought, it was awfully hard to stop.

They'd been taken out and around the bank through a side door, avoiding the worst of the zoo spilling out onto the bank's steps. Vaguely, she realized they were being steered toward a squad car, and her stomach dropped.

_Shit. This is actually happening._

Even with the chafe of metal cuffs against her wrists, it still didn't seem possible. Even as an officer reached for the car's handle, and opened the door, it still didn't seem real, not even as Leonard was pushed inside –

A white light flashed in her eyes. She started, momentarily dazed as sparkling dots floated across her vision. When she finally blinked them away, she turned to see a reporter beside her, camera still pointed at the squad car.

_Oh for God's sake._

She felt her jaw drop as she realized: Leonard was the suspect in the newspaper photo that Rip had shown them on the Waverider. Or at least, he would be _now_. Her mind raced. The image of Leonard being pushed into the car was just how she remembered the photo. Had it always been him? The question of time travel sent her head spinning as she was pushed into the squad car herself, toppling into Leonard from the force of it.

The door slammed shut, muffling the chaos of the world outside.

And creating a whole new sort of chaos inside.

"Fancy meeting you here," Leonard said.

_You don't know the half of it._

With her chin lodged in his shoulder, her mouth practically kissing his leather jacket, she thought he had no right to sound so amused. She peered up at him from under her lashes, throwing him her best daggered glare. He caught it with an easy smile.

But nothing about this was easy, no, not with him half pinned underneath her, trapped between her body and the door. With his hands cuffed behind his back, there was nothing he could do to get out of the position – and if he minded, she couldn't tell. He turned his head just enough to bring his face an inch from her own.

She knew she could move, she knew she could pull herself away from him. Her body was strong enough. But she'd lost all control of it, and there was simply no hope of getting it back. She prickled at the feeling of his thigh against hers, her chest pressed up against his arm.

_It's impossible,_ she thought. Impossible that he was here, so close to her, so alive and breathing and – oh, how could she possibly breathe? Only the sight of his dark hair reminded her that she was in the wrong decade, with the wrong man.

But that dark hair – _was_ it wrong? – that dark hair brought out the blue in his eyes so forcefully, she was struck again by them as he stared down at her in that way that made her want to scream and shout and kill and kiss him.

She tilted her chin up until her mouth was free.

It was lucky that her hands were cuffed behind her back, because her fingers itched to touch him. They were begging to run up his arm, across his back, down the slope of his jaw… And if she did that, it would be over, all over, and no going back.

He was staring at her lips again, she realized suddenly, his face falling closer and closer to hers. He'd lost that infuriating smile, but the soft thoughtfulness he wore now was somehow even worse. It reminded her of long hours spent hiding behind a deck of cards, of freezing to death next to the one person who made her feel most alive, of lying awake remembering _me and you_ …

And it sent a shockwave through her system, warning bells firing in her mind.

"This is all your fault," she snapped, breaking the spell.

Really, she knew it wasn't – she knew it was her fault for letting him get her so distracted that they ended up in this situation in the first place. But at the very least, it was all his fault that she was feeling this way, all his fault for dangling what she'd dreamed of for the last three months in front of her, when she knew she couldn't have it.

His head snapped up, and he leaned back, narrowing his eyes. "I fail to see how –"

"– said I've got it!" A man's yelling voice, distant but carrying, interrupted him. Leonard started, whipping his head around to the window. Free from his attention at last, Sara came to her senses and pulled away – far, far away, as far as she could get in the tiny space. It wasn't nearly far enough to forget how badly she wanted to be close to him.

"No!" The sharp jab of the syllable pierced through the car, and the voice sounded nearer now. "No," the man repeated, louder. He had to be moving toward them.

"Tell Roberts he can kiss my ass!" _Well._ Whoever he was, he was pissed. Maybe even as much as Sara.

She turned her attention back to Leonard, only to find a completely unfamiliar expression on his face. Was it… _panic_? He was craning his neck, urgently shifting for a better view out the window. His eyebrows were raised, comically high compared to the deep set of his mouth, which was creeping downward in a frown. It was the kind of expression she'd expect on someone caught with their hand in a cookie jar…

"Yeah," the man called. "Yeah, I _get_ it!" Sara tilted herself forward and back, trying to see around Leonard. _If only he'd move his big head,_ she thought, gladly letting her annoyance take over her more dangerous emotions.

"Oh trust me, this'll be the last time I stick my neck out for him!"

Finally, Sara saw a man push through the crowd, striding purposefully to the car as he called over his shoulder. It was a police officer, she realized. He was moving so quickly she only had a moment to take in his thick mustache and frown before he ripped open the back door.

" _What_ did I say about you and handcuffs?"

Sara's eyes darted back and forth between Leonard and the officer, a smile fighting its way onto her face. She couldn't help it; she'd never seen Leonard like this. It was almost as if he were… _ashamed_.

Of course, it was only a moment before he recovered, slipping easily into his normal sardonic mask.

"Something about staying out of them?" Leonard quipped, peering up at the officer as the man glared down at him. Despite Leonard's best effort, she could still hear the hint of apprehension in his voice.

The officer huffed, brow furrowing. He had a friendly face, even with the scowl he was giving Leonard. Based on the laugh lines at the corners of his mouth and eyes, she'd guess he was around 50, though his hair and mustache were dark brown without a hint of gray.

Suddenly, it hit her how much he resembled a character from the TV show _Friends_ : Richard, one of Monica's boyfriends. Sara and Laurel had always loved _Friends_ – it was one of their favorite shows growing up, one of the few things that had connected them even when they were fighting (which was constantly) _._ It made Sara's heart constrict to remember what a crush Laurel had once had on the affable older man. And it endeared his police officer doppelganger to her immediately.

"Real funny," Richard (as Sara now thought of him) said. "There I was," he sighed, "thinking that maybe, just _maybe_ , you were getting your act together. Then guess whose name came over my scanner?"

Leonard actually winced a little at that, until he covered it with a forced laugh. "It's all a misunderstanding," he said, tone light and appeasing. "I'm completely innocent!"

Richard raised his eyebrows in a way that said _I'm not buying it_. "Completely innocent, huh?" he asked. "Then explain why I have intel that you and your ' _partner_ ' have been casing that bank for three weeks."

Sara watched Leonard gulp, his eyebrows quirking in surprise. "Well," he hedged, " _completely_ might be a strong word –"

Richard growled in frustration, effectively cutting Leonard off. "Miranda rights!" He pointed a stern finger at Leonard. Then he pulled away, slamming the door behind him in exasperation.

Sara was a little surprised when he then got into the driver's seat and settled himself behind the wheel. He turned on the ignition and flipped the lights on, muttering under his breath as he merged into traffic.

Well, at least he was a faster driver than Ray.

_Very interesting,_ Sara thought, studying Richard in the rearview mirror. From the sound of it, he was disappointed in Leonard…from the sound of it, he actually _cared_ about Leonard. That put him on a short list of people throughout Leonard's life, as far as she knew, a short list she was on, too. And it made her feel inexplicably fond of him.

"You know," Richard jumped into his lecture again, as if he'd never paused. "I thought the next favor I'd be calling at Goldberg and Partners would be to get you a job." He shook his head. "You'd have to get a degree eventually, but they were willing to sponsor you if you worked hard and paid your dues!"

Sara could practically _feel_ Leonard rolling his eyes at that. She glanced over to see she was right, annoyance written all over his face, as if they'd had this conversation a dozen times and Leonard knew there was just no reasoning with him.

Richard sighed again. "Goldberg owed me a hundred favors and I called in every last one of them on you!" He frowned back at Leonard in the mirror. "Now instead of getting you placed, I'm going to have to get you _represented._ " He grunted, shaking his head. "I just can't believe it. I thought you were too smart to get caught up with a bunch of lowlifes like that crew."

Leonard's annoyance flashed to anger in a hot second. "I _am_ ," he spat. "I told you, I'm innocent. I had nothing to do with those scum."

Richard glanced back in the rearview mirror, his furrowed brow revealing his confliction. Sara could see it in his eyes – he _wanted_ to believe Leonard. After a moment he looked away, and then back, his face relaxing. Maybe he decided he did.

The car was quiet for a minute, and Sara wondered why Leonard didn't just tell Richard the whole story. She'd thought he'd be bragging about it – _Yeah, I saved_ this _one's stupid life, and thanks to me, the real robbers are in custody. When can you schedule my medal ceremony?_ But he didn't say a word about it. Instead, he just gazed thoughtfully at the back of Richard's head.

Finally, Leonard leaned forward, getting as close to the metal barrier that separated them as he could. "So…" he started, with the air of someone keen on changing the subject. "How's Maggie?"

Sara was baffled for a second, wondering who Maggie could be. Richard's wife, maybe? She wondered how Leonard knew such a personal detail about the officer.

Richard's demeanor changed instantly. "Good," he said, nodding his head and visibly brightening. "All she can talk about lately is soccer. Soccer, soccer, soccer. She wants to be just like Mia Hamm – whoever that is!"

Leonard chuckled. "Yes, Lisa too," he agreed. "She's so excited for the Olympics. Every time she makes me play with her it's, 'we're going for gold! We're going for gold!'"

Richard laughed. "Oh yeah. I've heard that!" He shook his head, but a smile still lingered on his face. "Say, is Lisa playing soccer down at the rec league, too?"

Leonard nodded, the corners of his mouth turning up into a small smile of his own. "She was so upset when she and Maggie were put on different teams."

Ah, so Maggie was Richard's _daughter_ , and by the sound of it, she and Lisa were friends. Was that how he knew Leonard so well?

Richard chuckled. "Yeah, those two are peas in a pod." Then he paused, tilting his head. "You know, I was just at the rec center for Maggie's practice, but I don't remember seeing Lisa. Don't tell me I'm getting so old I missed her?"

Sara was surprised to see Leonard's expression suddenly darken. His eyes drifted down and away, and she found herself wishing she could touch him, wishing she could bring him back from whatever hole his thoughts had just plunged him into.

"She misses sometimes," Leonard explained, slowly, carefully. "You know, family conflicts. Things get…busy…no one can drive her. Of course, she never calls _me_ until it's too late for me to get her there."

If she hadn't known Leonard so well, she might have missed the subtext. But she did – she _knew_ him, and she understood that when he said "family conflicts" and "busy" what he really meant was that his parents were fighting or too drunk to drive.

The true meaning of his words wasn't lost on Richard either. She watched his eyebrows raise and then furrow in the rearview mirror, and didn't miss the angry twist to his mouth before he coughed awkwardly.

"Well," Richard cleared his throat again. "Your folks' place is on our way to the rec center. We could always carpool and pick Lisa up." He glanced back again, gauging Leonard's reaction. Leonard's head was still hanging, but his eyebrows perked up at the offer. "It'll be my wife driving tomorrow," Richard continued, taking Leonard's silence as permission to go on. "I'm sure she'd be happy to swing by and grab Lisa. And Maggie would love it," he added.

Leonard shrugged, as if he didn't care either way. But when he finally met Richard's eyes in the mirror, it wasn't with indifference, it was with…gratitude.

He nodded, slowly. "Lisa won't be home tomorrow," he said. "But next week…I'm sure she'd like that."

"Sounds good," Richard agreed, "I'll let the gang know."

Sara sat back in her seat, thinking. She remembered a time when she was a girl, and her father, an officer just like Richard, had been called to the same family home over and over again for domestic violence. She must've been, oh, twelve maybe? Thirteen? She remembered sneaking out of bed late, when he finally came home, and listening to the stories he'd tell her mom. She remembered how it broke his heart, how he spoke with tears in his eyes, so frustrated that there was nothing he could do to help the woman and her children if she wouldn't press charges, if she wouldn't leave.

Her father had cared for that family, she remembered that very clearly. He'd wanted so much to do anything for them, even though they were basically strangers. She remembered once, after he'd picked her and Laurel up from school, he'd even stopped by their home just to check and see that everyone was alright.

She wondered if maybe Richard had been doing the same thing for the Snarts. Watching out for them. The way he so easily offered his help, the way he clearly cared so much…she had to wonder if he'd been involved in their lives more closely than just as the father of Lisa's friend.

Sara was jostled out of her musings as she felt the car come to a sudden stop. She looked out the window and realized with horror that they'd pulled right up to the Central County Law Enforcement Center. Richard turned off the engine.

_Shit._

She'd been so distracted by the exchange between Leonard and Richard, she'd almost forgotten where they were headed. _Jail_. _Right_. _Shit._

Another officer met them at the car, and Sara felt the dread pooling in the pit of her stomach as the door opened. Cuffed as they were, they had to be practically pulled from the back seat, Richard helping Leonard and the newcomer roughly yanking her forward.

Her legs had fallen asleep on the ride, and she tripped on her way out of the car, careening into the concrete with no hands to break her fall. Her knees scraped the hard surface and she yelped in surprise, the officer catching her just before her face could hit the pavement, too.

"Hey!" She looked up in time to see Leonard glaring at the officer. "Watch it," he warned, pinning the man with a threatening stare.

Sara turned back to the officer, and had to admit he seemed sufficiently threatened. Funny that Leonard could have that effect, even in handcuffs. Funnier how pleased she felt that he'd done it for _her_.

Richard rolled his eyes and tugged at Leonard's arm. "She's fine," he said, sounding bored. If he knew Leonard at all, then she supposed he had to be used to this kind of behavior. But Leonard refused to move until she was standing again, glowering at the officer as she found her way to her shaky feet.

They were escorted side-by-side down a path hidden from the street. Sara could see it was leading to a door tucked away from the main building, labeled by a sign that ominously read, "JAIL."

Leonard turned to her, leaning closer so he could speak quietly in her ear. "You okay?" he asked. She felt his gaze on her with a pang, and suddenly she wished he'd look away.

But she couldn't resist turning her head toward him, no, she couldn't resist meeting his eyes. The sight of them left her feeling like she'd caught on fire. Because no one else had ever made her feel so nervous, so completely out of her skin, and so calm, so centered, at the same time. The fire spread to her chest, to her gut, and she decided to let it burn.

"I'm not a damsel," she answered, finally, growling through clenched teeth.

"And I'm no knight in shining armor," he agreed.

They took a few more steps, the door looming ever nearer. Leonard glanced at it for a moment, and then his eyes were back on her. She swallowed.

_Snap out of it, Lance_.

"Could've fooled me." She barely choked out the words.

Then they were going through the door, and there was no turning back now.

Inside, the ceilings were low and the lighting was dim, with no windows and only overhead fluorescent lights to cast a sick glow on the proceedings. They were ushered through a small foyer and a double set of doors, which opened before them with a groaning buzz.

On the other side they were met with a metal detector, a short hallway beyond it. To their left was a small open space, with vending machines and a table with chairs, three police officers arranged around it. _Interesting break area_ , she thought, just as the officers looked up at them.

And then they erupted in a fit of boisterous shouts.

All three of them were on their feet in an instant, hooting and hollering and patting each other on the back. One was even clapping, nodding his head with a huge grin on his face.

"Hey, Snart!"

"Snart-y! Ah, welcome home!"

"Jordan, quick – get the book!"

The tallest one reached up to the top of a vending machine, pulling down a leather-bound ledger.

"Alright, alright, what's today?" They set the book on the table, opening it and fighting over each other to get the best look.

_They're like little monkeys,_ she thought, watching with some amusement as they flipped through the pages.

"April 24, April 24, where are you…"

They stopped, suddenly, one with his finger hovering over the center of the page. Collectively, they looked up at Leonard, then back down to the book.

"Holy fucking shit," one cried, slapping the page in disgust. "Garcia has 10-1 on this fucking day – you have _got_ to be shitting me."

"I was off by a _week_ ," another lamented, putting his head in his hands. "Snart! You couldn't have waited one week?" He rubbed a hand through his short cropped hair, sighing. "Come on, man, it's been six months! I was _so_ close…"

_Six months?_ She turned back to Leonard, eyeing him curiously. He seemed smug as ever, maybe even a little proud at the scene. But six months since what…his last arrest?

"I've been out since week one," the third officer shrugged, patting his friend on the back.

"You never did have any faith in me, Nelson," Leonard said, his smug demeanor fading fast.

"Oh I have plenty of faith in you," Nelson mocked, taking a few steps toward them and crossing his arms. "Plenty of faith you'll never change."

Leonard puffed out his chest and took a step toward him, too. For a second it seemed like he was going to try to fight him – cuffs and all.

"Alright, that's enough," Richard stepped in, dragging Leonard back over to the metal detector.

"Hey, Tom Selleck, didn't see you there!" Nelson teased. "Shouldn't you be out on a date with Monica?"

Sara had to smile at that – at least she wasn't the only one who'd noticed the resemblance.

"Yeah, I'd much rather be out with Courteney Cox than here dealing with you lot," Richard sighed, rolling his eyes. Apparently he'd heard that joke too many times.

"Oh, but what would your wife say?" The tall one, Jordan, snickered.

"She'd say that sometimes she'd rather go out with Matthew Perry than me, too," Richard retorted.

Sara was distracted from the scene by the sound of a handheld metal detector beeping angrily near her ankle. She started – she hadn't even realized she was being scanned.

"What's this?" The officer who'd brought her in knelt down, feeling at her boot. Briefly, she was horrified that they'd found her comm – how could she explain it? – until he pulled out her last, hidden throwing knife.

She relaxed, shrugging at Richard's bemused expression (had he missed the memo? She was the one with the _knives_ ), the officer's annoyance, and Leonard, who was eyeing her with that satisfying air of surprise.

"Good catch," she said, flashing the officer a smile.

They were shuffled down the hall and into a large office, where they were greeted by a petite officer with dark shining hair tied back in a low bun.

"Hello, Mr. Snart," she purred, batting her big brown eyes at him.

"Officer Garcia," Leonard answered, looking her up and down. "You're looking lovely as ever," he added.

"Flattery will get you nowhere," she cooed. "I think you've just made me a very rich woman, though."

"You know I hate to disappoint," he said. "But we'll be out of here in a minute. Maybe I can make it up to you later – when do you get off?"

"We'll see." She nodded to Richard. "I've got him. You can process his little friend here." Sara bristled at the dismissal, biting down on her jealousy. She knew Leonard would charm anyone to get what he wanted, and it probably didn't mean a thing.

Still, turnabout was fair play. She shifted her stance, letting her hip brush against the woman.

"Come find me when you're bored of him," she said with a wink, stifling laughter at the glare she received in return.

Then Richard pulled her off to the side, the officer who'd help bring her in disappearing back out into the hall as Leonard was led to the opposite end of the room by Garcia.

"Name," Richard asked, reaching for a pen and form booklet. Sara lied, of course. And she lied, and lied some more as Richard shuffled her through processing. He kept her at a bored distance, going through the motions without ever once asking what had really happened at the bank. Leonard and Garcia were having much more fun, from what she could see of them. It only added to her mounting frustration.

"Listen," she said finally, jerking her hand to get his attention. Richard paused in the process of taking her fingerprints, barely lifting an eyebrow at her before he resumed.

"Don't tell me anything," he countered. "If you do, I'll have to testify."

She groaned. "No," she said. "It's not like that, I just –"

He started humming, loudly (was that the _Friends_ theme song?), covering the quiet sound of her voice.

"Shh," she insisted. "Stop." He didn't. She huffed, digging her fingers into the ink and refusing to move her hand until he finally acknowledged her.

"I can tell you care about him," she said, keeping her voice low so that Leonard couldn't hear. "And I just wanted to tell you that you're _right_." She met his eyes, praying he'd believe her. "You're right about him," she repeated. Richard tilted his head, studying her with something close to awe. Probably no one had ever told him that.

"He saved my life today," she continued. "And he stopped those robbers. If it hadn't been for him, they would've gotten away." He nodded, finally, and she sighed.

"He's a hero," she finished. It was true in more ways than she could possibly tell him, but it was the best she could do. Someone who cared about him that much…deserved to know. He deserved to know that no matter what else Leonard might do in his life, that's who he really was.

By the time Richard escorted Leonard and Sara to the holding cell, she was almost relieved. Almost, until she caught sight of the iron bars and the reality of it hit her once again.

"You know we're innocent," she said, turning desperately to Richard. "Just ask the others at the bank – there was a woman with a little girl, they'll tell you."

"They'll take the witness statements into consideration," Richard agreed. "But it may not be enough to get you released right away."

"Well, check the security footage, you'll see everything!" she insisted, cringing as Richard slid the door open.

"Our agents have to receive special permission from the bank to review the footage, and they will," he assured her, guiding her gently inside. Leonard went willingly, and the door clanged shut again behind him.

Richard removed their handcuffs through the bars, eyeing her with sympathy.

"Get comfortable," he suggested. "You could be here all day. Or longer, with all the red tape we'll have to go through to get that footage," he added.

Sara leaned against the bars, stomach dropping as she watched Richard disappear from view. _How did this happen?_ She pressed her forehead into the metal, trying and failing spectacularly to ignore the sense of Leonard still standing right beside her.

She turned, unsurprised to find him shamelessly staring at her. _Why does he have to do that?_

He took a half step closer, and she cursed her racing heart. _I am stronger than this_ , she thought, and instantly knew it was a lie. How was she going to survive this?

She side-stepped him without a word, forcing herself to breathe and taking in their cell. The walls were dank and dirty, graffiti littered over every rough edge. There was a narrow window at the top of the far wall, too high to reach, the only source of light besides a dim fluorescent overhead. A single bench lined the back wall, and Leonard brushed by her to take up the right corner of it, leaning against the wall and making himself look quite at home. The space was much longer than it was wide, and as she finished her sweep of it she noticed a large, brown lump against the right wall that she supposed had to be a person.

She ignored it, crossing the cell to sit on the left corner of the bench, pushing herself as far away from Leonard as possible. She propped her left leg up and looked pointedly away, but she could still feel his eyes on her.

_And now we wait._

Despite the chill of the day outside, inside the cell was oppressively hot, seeming only to grow hotter the longer they sat in the heavy silence. For a moment she was glad she was sleeveless, until she remembered the exposed skin at her shoulders and waist. The gap at her stomach had felt small a few hours ago, but it was suddenly seeming like far, far too much. She crossed her arms over it, trying to cover herself.

And to think, she could've worn overalls.

Finally, she chanced a glance in Leonard's direction. He hadn't moved a muscle, still lounging against the wall, one leg folded up on the bench and an arm propped on his knee. He looked entirely too comfortable for someone in a jail cell, especially in that leather jacket. Did he ever get hot? She'd never seen him in anything but long sleeves. Then she realized his eyes were still trained on her, and she forced herself to look away again.

The Leonard she'd known had always been cocky, had always had swagger, sure. He'd always been confident – and though she'd never have admitted it to him, that confidence was something she'd found attractive. But this. There was something so _brazen_ about this Leonard that she didn't remember. And it didn't sit well with her. Maybe it was the way he just wouldn't stop openly staring at her, gaze so intense it was making her feel, well, _naked_.

In the end, she broke the silence.

"Stop that."

A small smile began forming around his mouth, and she could tell he was fighting to keep it away.

"What," he replied. It wasn't even a question. It was a challenge.

She rolled her eyes. "Looking at me like you're undressing me."

"Well," he considered her. "You're looking at me like you're about to _eat_ me." Judging by the crinkles at the corners of his eyes, he found the thought delightful.

He was already under her skin and he knew it.

Maybe it was the heat, maybe it was the whole _goddamned_ day, but Sara had hit a wall. A wave of sudden fury washed over her, and she snapped.

"Fine, I'll _bite_." She glared at him. "What the hell was that?"

He tilted his head. "You mean you almost getting yourself killed trying to play ' _hero_ '?" He shrugged. "Think you're going to have to do the explaining for that."

Oh, he had some nerve _._ "Where did you even come from?" she asked, heat rising to her face. "You and your buddy walked out the back door – that doesn't even open from the outside!"

"It doesn't open for _most_ people. I'm not most people."

She wished she had something to throw at him. She took a deep breath, winding her temper, grasping at straws.

"You brought a gun to a bank," she said slowly. "And you knew the layout of the vaults." She was sure probing about his true intentions at the bank would throw him as off-balance as he had her.

She was wrong.

He leaned his head back against the wall, grinning. "Yeah, it's exactly what you're thinking."

_Seriously?_ "You and one other guy were going to rob Central City's largest bank? Alone?"

He lifted his palms up, shrugging as if it were no big deal. "We had a well-placed associate on the inside."

He was too calm. Too cool. It was maddening, and she reached for her last conversational advantage: "So why didn't you go through with it?"

That had to knock him down a peg, right?

But it didn't. "Plan wasn't as air-tight as I wanted," he explained. "I decided to wait and regroup."

That simple, hm? Well, she could think of one thing that wasn't.

"So why did you help me stop that gang?"

He did pause at that, and for a second she thought she'd stumped him. "Well," he started, "when you rob a bank, it's best if the money is still there."

She wanted to strangle him.

"How did you know which vault they would target?" she demanded.

"Same one we were going for. Easiest to get to with the biggest payout." He glanced away finally, thinking. "Glad to know just how long it takes law enforcement to reach it." Then his eyes snapped back to her.

_Great_. Her mission had given him the chance to do _reconnaissance._ She huffed, reassessing, re-strategizing. She could crack him. She knew she could – how many hundreds of times had she done it before?

Finally, she spoke again. "So would this have been your first big heist or is this a thing for you?"

He raised his eyebrows. "Well, my record shows mostly petty theft so far…" His voice changed from light to suggestive. "But I'm moving up in the world."

"Oh, I can see that," she said, sarcastically sweet. How could someone be so smug about a crime they hadn't committed?

But suddenly her anger shifted to worry as she started contemplating the kinds of things he could be getting himself into. She wasn't as concerned about what he and Mick did, but what if this young Leonard was involved with some kind of...criminal mentor? Mob-boss type? She felt a surge of protectiveness.

"So what kind of...endeavors...are you working on, Mr. Moving Up?"

He smirked. "This isn't the _best_ place to discuss."

Infuriating. She comforted herself that he'd turned out fine, anyway (although "fine" was a relative term). She fell quiet, contemplating his life path from here – petty thief – to the supervillain she'd met on the Waverider.

"How about you?" he asked, drawing her back from her wonderings. "Are you some kind of daytime vigilante? Do you just hang around banks all day waiting to stop crimes?"

_Finally_ , it was her turn to smirk. "Well," she drawled, "this isn't the _best_ place to discuss. _"_ Two could play at that game.

"Aha." He appraised her, and she couldn't help but wonder if she was turning out to be more or less interesting than he'd thought when they first saw each other.

For a while, they just stared at each other, neither willing to back down. But eventually, he relented.

"I'm Len," he offered. _Len_.

She blinked, fighting back a visceral reaction to the word. It was as if he'd reached in and grabbed her stomach right out of her core. And she wondered, after everything she'd been through, how could one measly syllable threaten to destroy her?

She was still staring blankly at him when he prompted her. "And you are...?"

She opened her mouth to speak, but he interrupted her before she could get to it. "And don't bother using the fake you gave our officer friend."

So " _Kendra Saunders_ " was out. She wracked her brain, determined not to give him her real name, but the only one she could think of other than her own was " _Laurel_." She could tell he'd see through anything else. But she could be Laurel – she'd been Laurel dozens of times, it was her go-to code name. That would work.

It was on the tip of her tongue when she realized that it _could_ work, but using that name would likely undo her faster than even this conversation. So she swallowed it. Rolled her eyes. And sighed.

Finally, "Sara."

Somehow it felt like an admission, or maybe a plea. It seemed dangerous, like handing him yet another weapon to use against her, and she felt that, oh she felt it when he echoed her name back to her.

"Sara."

Maybe it was way he said it, just the same way he always had, drawing out the " _air_ " in the middle so reverently, like a last rite, like a prayer, and _amen_. She braced a hand on the bench against the sway of shivers it sent running up and down her spine. And she realized she wouldn't mind if it was the last thing she ever heard.

If they didn't get out of this cell soon, she thought that could be arranged.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, we're almost finished with Part 1! I had to cut this chapter again for length, but the good news is that the second half of this scene should be posted much sooner than normal (or here's hoping). Thanks so much again for reading and for all the kind feedback! I really appreciate it and hope you continue to enjoy the story. Special thanks to ClaudiaRain for looking this over and helping me make it so much better - including the suggestion to work Ray into this chapter. Hope you like it! Disclaimer: I don't own LoT.

**Central City – April 24, 1996**

"So, Sara," Len said from the other end of the bench.

The way he said her name again, it was like she'd fallen into a dream. Because it was him, but it wasn't. Because he was gone – but he was right _here_.

And what would become of her when she woke up?

"This your first arrest?" he asked, gesturing to the dirty walls of their cell. The gray light from their sole, barred window highlighted his teasing smile, and she flushed. She still couldn't decide if the heavy heat she felt was real or simply from the weight of his stare.

"No," she shot back. "Although I don't make it a habit – unlike you, it seems."

He narrowed his eyes, and she realized she'd finally said something that bothered him.

"Considering you carry around a set of knives and apparently have a record," he said smoothly, "maybe you could drop the moral superiority."

If it got to him? "Not likely."

His gaze wandered over her, pausing on her bare shoulders and the inch of skin at her waist before meeting her eyes again. She shivered, despite the heat.

"I _did_ save your life today," he said, finally.

She bristled at the reminder. "Yeah, about that. Why the hell did you?"

He shrugged, as if it had been nothing. "That goon had a gun aimed at your head. I didn't want to see him blow your pretty face off."

She paused before answering, deliberately closing her eyes and straining to release the anger building in her chest. He'd been so stupid, so reckless – and he wouldn't even acknowledge it.

"Awfully big risk to take for a stranger," she said lightly, carefully. "It was dangerous," she added, her forced calm slipping as frustration and... pain... crept into her voice. "You could've been hurt."

And he had no idea how that would've destroyed the whole damn timeline. How it would've destroyed _her_.

"I know," he agreed, smug grin curling up the corner of his mouth. "And you're welcome. Funny, I haven't heard you thank me yet."

Thank him? _He should have let me die_.

"Don't hold your breath."

She turned away, deflated, defeated, squirming against the hot lump at the back of her throat and the heavy beating of her heart.

He'd been, what – inches? Less? – from winding up dead on that bank floor himself. She shuddered as the image of it sprang to her mind, him limp in her arms, his blood pooling around them. What if he had died? Would all of her memories of him have been erased, too? Her own death was a far more comforting prospect.

"You don't even know me," she added, bitterly, though she wasn't sure how she managed to get the words out.

For a few moments he was quiet. The silence tugged at her, pulling her eyes to his again despite her best efforts.

Something in his expression had changed. He was no longer teasing, she could see it in the set of his shoulders, the slight crinkle between his eyebrows as he studied her. A muscle ticked in his jaw, as if he had to steel himself before he finally spoke.

"But I want to."

Her lips parted in surprise. A tiny ache formed in the pit of her stomach, threatening to grow and grow until she lost herself. When she could find no words, he continued.

"Will you let me?"

 _I would,_ she thought. _I did._

Leonard Snart had stolen many things, she knew, but her secrets had never been among them. Those she'd given him freely, when she'd been good and ready. And he'd accepted them, guarded them, against all odds and always surprising her with how easy it could be to set those burdens down, with him.

 _This is a different man_ , she reminded herself. _The man who earned your secrets is dead_.

Of course. But the who one sat before her was so like him, holding himself just the same way, all carelessly handsome and open and waiting.

And what was the harm? In a day he would forget her. Or if not a day, then a week, or a month, or a year. Certainly in 20 years. Even if this event was something he would remember for 20 years, she wasn't sure time would allow it. Stein didn't seem to remember the team's interference in his life in the seventies. Who knew how it worked?

Regardless, odds were slim that she would leave any impact on his memory. Which meant that what she said now, what she did...wasn't hurting anyone. Except her.

And she was beyond healing anyway.

She took a breath, no idea what she was about to say, only that she would regret it later, but not now, not now, her pulse quickening as she grew stronger and stronger in her resolve to throw caution to the wind and –

A light set of footsteps halted her thoughts, and she choked back words she knew she shouldn't say. Instead, a crushing fear shot through her as her eyes darted frantically between Leonard and the iron bars, the sound of footsteps growing nearer. Her mind raced. Richard had said they'd be stuck here all day. They couldn't be getting released yet? It was too soon, much too soon; this couldn't be it. She was on her feet and at the bars before she could think, desperate to stop whatever was coming, as crazy as she knew that was. Because it couldn't be over yet, it couldn't be, it –

It was _Ray_.

Suddenly he was at the cell door, and no, she wasn't imagining him there, decked out in a tailored black suit and tie.

He cleared his throat. "It is I," he announced, "Attorney Palmer. Your attorney," he added, flashing Sara his dorky grin and winking at her.

 _Subtle_.

She wrapped her hands around the bars, struggling to still her racing heart.

"'Attorney' isn't a title," she growled through clenched teeth, voice soft and venomous. "It's not like being a doctor."

"It's not?" he asked, disappointed frown curving his mouth down.

She rolled her eyes. "Where did you even get that outfit? Did you go back to the Waverider?"

He barked out a laugh. "No, of course not! That would've taken much too long."

 _Right, with your driving, we would've had time to serve a life sentence._ She felt Len's eyes on her back and motioned for Ray to keep his voice down.

"No," he continued, quieter, though not nearly quiet enough. "I keep this baby on hand just in case, shrunk down with the Atom suit. Never know when I might need it!"

"Seriously? Who do you think you are, James Bond?"

"I mean, you said it, not me…"

She groaned, shaking her head. "What are you doing here?" she whispered, urgently.

"I'm here to get you out," he grinned, and her stomach dropped. She was still all-too aware of Len's presence at the wall behind her. She grabbed at the front of Ray's jacket through the bars, jerking him and motioning for him to move to the side of the cell, as far away from Len as they could get.

He raised his voice again, as he "smoothly" covered their movement. "If you'll please step over here, Miss, uh…" his bravado wavered as he reached for her code name.

"Saunders," she supplied, barely breathing out the name. _God help us._

"Saunders," he agreed, falsely bright as he choked just a bit on his ex-girlfriend's name.

"How did you even get in here?" she demanded, once they'd reached the corner of the cell. She could still feel Len's gaze on her, hot and scruitinizing. "And how could you get me out? The police aren't going to release me until they're done investigating at the bank."

"I used the suit to get in," he explained. "I thought you could wear the suit to get out, and I'll just wander around looking lost until someone escorts me to the door."

Her heart was racing again. Why did he have to come? She'd told the team she could handle this.

"One problem with that plan," she said, breathing hard now through her nose to temper her panic. "I have a cellmate."

Ray raised his eyebrows, not even glancing at him. "Well, I'm sure you can think of a few ways to incapacitate him," he shrugged. "Knock him out, and let's go."

"Ray," Sara grabbed his wrist through the bars, willing him to understand. "We know my cellmate."

His face twisted in confusion, brows furrowing and frowning before he finally looked away from Sara to the back of the cell. His eyes moved back and forth between Len and Sara several times, face still confused, still searching for an answer to the unspoken question, until –

"Oh my god is that –"

"Ray," Sara tugged at him, desperate to draw his attention back to her. His jaw dropped, and the shock on his face was unbearable as he stared and stared at Len.

"Ray," she repeated, louder. She moved to try and block his line of sight, but he moved with her, continuing to stare over her shoulder.

" _Ray!_ " She pressed her fingernails into his skin, and he finally looked at her. Of course, once he had, she wished he hadn't – she read a thousand questions in his eyes, each more heartbreaking than the last.

"What happened?" His voice was so soft now, barely a whisper. "How…?"

The weight of the question nearly knocked the wind out of her. "I don't know," she said. "He came back to the bank. I don't know why. He saved my life. I don't know, he… almost took a bullet for me. He helped me stop the gang. The police thought… they thought he and I were trying to rob the bank." Her words came in starts and stops as she forced the explanation out.

Ray was quiet for too long, his expression a painful combination of shock and grief and…pity.

"Sara," he started, at a loss.

"I can't leave him," she whispered, shaking her head. "I can't."

Ray flinched and leaned back, as if her words had been a slap. "Sara, you can't stay in 1996…"

"I know," she snapped. "I just mean... I can't break out while he's here. What if they blame him and he gets sent to prison? And we change the timeline?" she scrambled to cover whatever emotion she'd just revealed.

He tilted his head, frowning, and she knew she was in trouble if she couldn't even fool Ray…

"Sara," he started again, and she was ready to fight him, ready to yell for the guards to take him away because she couldn't let this be the end.

Suddenly, Ray's head twisted to the side, and as if some silent prayer had been answered, two police officers appeared in the hallway.

"Sir," one said, as they strode purposefully toward Ray. "You can't be here."

Ray backed away from the cell, laughing nervously. "Hello, officers," he said, "I'm Attorney Palmer, Miss Saunders' attorney." Sara dug her forehead into a bar. _It's hopeless._

"Sir, we're going to have to ask you to leave. Visitors aren't permitted in this area of the jail." The officer put a hand to Ray's elbow. Ray made the mistake of yanking it away.

"Now listen here," Ray said, "my client has constitutional rights!" The officers exchanged a glance, then each took him by an arm. Ray dug his heels into the floor, pitiful attempt to hang back as they pushed him forward.

"I don't want to scare you gentlemen," Ray's voice began rising, panicked. "But I have friends at the District Attorney's office!"

The officers were unmoved as they dragged him away. Ray cast a desperate glance over his shoulder at her, and somehow his eyes said he knew she was the one who needed help here, not him.

"This is a clear infringement of habeas corpus!" Ray cried. "You'll hear from my lawyer!"

"Aren't _you_ a lawyer?"

"I'm an attorney! Every attorney worth his salt has a lawyer!"

Then they disappeared around the corner and out of view, Ray's pleas and shouts growing more and more distant until they were gone.

Sara squeezed her eyes shut and thumped her forehead against a bar, at a loss. So much for not telling the team what happened. Now they would all know, and the thought of their reactions was enough for her to wish she would never return to the Waverider. She lifted her head, thumping it harder against the bar, vaguely hoping to erase the memory of Ray's face when she told him she couldn't leave. She hit her forehead again, then frowned as she realized the bar was much softer than she remembered.

"Who _are_ you?"

She started at the voice in her ear. She snapped her eyes open, only to find Len standing right beside her, one hand cradling her forehead. Suddenly warm all over, she jumped back and away from him. Len crossed his arms, studying her suspiciously.

But she didn't have a chance to respond as the sound of footsteps once again echoed down the hall. Sara's heart leapt to her throat – did Ray escape? Was it actually Richard this time, come to collect them?

Neither, it turned out, as the petite form of Officer Garcia rounded the corner.

"Mr. Snart," she said, eyes only for Len as she approached the bars.

He raised his eyebrows, watching her with interest. "To what do I owe the pleasure, Officer?"

She pointed to a vent in the wall across from the cell. "Our heating's broken," she said, and held up a water bottle. "It's been on overdrive all day. Thought you might need something to drink."

Well, that would explain the stifling heat in the cell. Sara was a little relieved to know her discomfort hadn't just been from Len's staring. But she couldn't stop the twist of jealousy in her gut as she noticed the way Garcia was staring at him now.

"Sorry, I forgot you weren't alone in here," Garcia added, glancing at Sara as she passed the bottle to Len. Sara crossed her arms. No way had she really forgotten. _What a bi–_

"Thanks," Len said, accepting it. Then he turned, immediately offering it to Sara. "Thirsty?"

She threw Garcia a smug little smile before taking the water from Len. "Very," she said.

Twisting off the cap, she spared one last glance at Garcia ( _take that_ ), before settling her eyes on Len. She pressed her lips around the opening of the bottle, tilting her head back maybe a bit more than necessary, taking deliberate gulps as she kept her gaze on him. Was she showing off? Oh well. _Enjoy the show, Garcia, and thanks for the entertainment._

Finally, she finished, and offered the bottle back to Len. He took it, eyes never leaving her face as he swigged from the bottle himself. Something about the way his Adam's apple moved when he drank left her feeling a bit weak in the knees. _Turnabout's fair play_ , she reminded herself. Mutely, she handed him the cap.

"Anything else, Garcia?" Len asked, turning back to her as if he'd just remembered they had an audience.

"Someone is looking for a fan for the cell," she said, glaring at Sara for a moment before turning her attention back to Len. "Need anything while we're at it?"

"Some food would be nice," Len said. "I'm starving. Apparently saving the day works up quite the appetite."

Garcia rolled her eyes and turned to leave. "I'll see what we can do."

"Already on it!" A familiar voice called from down the hall. Like magic, Richard appeared holding two greasy paper bags and a drink carrier.

" _Yes_ ," Len sighed, "Big Belly Burger. You're a saint."

"Tell me something I don't know," Richard agreed. Garcia left without another word, apparently fed up with the lot of them. Good. Sara's stomach grumbled as the smell of the fried food hit her – when was the last time she'd even eaten? She couldn't remember, and she wasn't sure any food had ever smelled so good.

Richard passed the bags and the drinks through the bars. "I just heard they finished questioning the witnesses at the bank," he said. "They corroborated your story."

He glanced pointedly at Sara, and she let out a little sigh of relief. Part of her had feared that despite the evidence to the contrary, Len would still somehow end up taking the blame for this. At the very least, now she knew that Richard believed everything she'd told him.

"But," Richard continued, "the Chief still won't release you until we've reviewed the security footage. Hang tight in here."

Len had already shoved several fries in his mouth. "Mm," he groaned, closing his eyes. "We're good, see you later," he said when he finished, waving Richard away.

"Uh huh," Richard said, glancing between Sara and Len. "Enjoy your lunch," he added, eying them with a knowing smile before taking his leave.

They set up their food on the floor, a safe distance away from the large brown lump of a person still lying against the wall. It hadn't moved the whole time they'd been in there, and Sara wasn't entirely sure it was alive.

The smell of her food distracted her from the thought though, and she sighed as she unwrapped her burger. For a few minutes they ate in silence, savoring the greasy fast food.

"I can't remember the last time I had Big Belly Burger," Sara said when she finally came up for air.

"Seriously? What, do you live under a rock?" Len asked.

 _If by "rock" you mean a space ship time machine_. But it had been longer than that, she thought, munching on a fry. Before she died? Before she came back to Star City from the League? Before the _Gambit_?

"I've been abroad for a few years," she admitted.

"Abroad, hm? Where?"

She blanched. _Shit_. Should've seen that one coming. She stalled, taking an extra-long time to chew.

"Asia," she said, finally.

"Asia," he deadpanned. "Very specific."

She shrugged, taking a sip of her drink. _I have the right to remain silent._

"What were you doing in…Asia?" he asked.

"Studying," she hedged.

"Studying what?" he pushed.

"All kinds of things."

He dipped a fry in ketchup and chewed it slowly.

"Is that where you got your lovely knives?"

 _Good eye_. She gave him a sultry smile. "If you like my knives, you ought to see my katana."

He lifted an eyebrow. "Are you kidding?"

"What do you think?"

He took a sip of his drink, and she could see the wheels turning behind his eyes as he appraised her.

"What is it that you do, exactly?"

"Answer me this," she said, evading his question. "How many times did you get arrested before the officers started their betting pool?"

He sighed. "Fine… what do your parents do, then?"

"Well, my dad's a cop," she said. He choked on his burger at that, and she grinned. Her dad's profession had always made the guys she dated nervous. _You're not dating him_ , the little voice in her head reminded her.

 _Shush,_ was her only response.

"My dad used to be a cop, too," Len said, when he could finally breathe again. "Before he went to prison."

He took another bite of burger, not looking at her. Her heart squeezed, and she didn't know what to say. Before she could even think, though, he continued.

"So what did you want to do before?" he asked, changing the subject, and she raised her eyebrows in question. "You know," he went on. "Before you acquired a katana, a mysterious backstory and some kind of vendetta against that gang of robbers – yeah, I know that you knew they were going to be there. I'm not stupid."

"Clearly," she agreed, grateful that he wasn't pushing to find out why. "I don't know…" she glanced at the ceiling, thinking. "I was never great at school. I was more a gym and art class kind of girl. Maybe a dancer? An art teacher? How about you, Len? Ever had any other aspirations?"

But when she looked back at him, she realized he'd stopped listening. Instead, his attention was fixed on her left hand, where she held her burger.

"Where did you get that ring?"

She froze. Suddenly his voice had turned very serious, even threatening. She held her breath, cursing herself – and Mick, damn him, for giving her Leonard's ring.

"Well," she said slowly, keeping her face carefully blank and averting her eyes from the duplicate on Len's hand. "I didn't steal it."

The air was tense between them as he considered her, eyes narrowed in suspicion. She forced herself to breathe normally. As long as she didn't react, he had no reason to think it was anything more than a coincidence, right?

"Pretty lousy wedding band," he said at last. She used the excuse of setting down her burger to hide her relief.

"I'm not married," she replied, brushing off her hands and avoiding his eyes.

"Well, don't give up hope," he teased.

"Marriage isn't in the cards for me. Ever."

She didn't expect those words to come out, or understand the anger that came with them. Her eyes found their way back to his.

"Can't be tied down?" he asked.

She looked away again, her voice softening. "It's not like that."

He was quiet a moment. "Then what's it like?"

When she didn't answer, he added: "What idiot broke your heart?"

 _You did_ , she realized with a jolt. She leaned back, resting on her elbows, trying to rescue her nonchalance.

"You ever had your heart broken, Len?"

"Can't say that I have," he drawled. "Not in love, anyway."

"Then what way?"

His expression turned sharp as he regarded her, looking from her face to her hand with the ring again, then away. Suddenly, he sat up straight and tugged off his jacket, throwing it to the corner with a soft _whump_.

His blue eyes met hers in a challenge. Because beneath his jacket he wore only a black short-sleeved shirt, his bare arms covered with nothing but…dozens of splotchy purple and black bruises that bloomed over his skin, covering almost every inch of his exposed arms.

She struggled to keep her voice calm. "What happened?"

At first she thought it could have been a fight, or a job. But the flicker of emotion in his face betrayed him.

"Nothing too unusual."

Apparently Len's heart had been broken in the kind of way that left a mark. It was clear in his posture, in the way he held himself hunched in, like there was a part of him still bracing for the next swing, like he was ashamed. She could just picture it, his drunk father coming at him with what, she couldn't say – but it must have hurt.

"Whoever did that to you?" She posed it as a question, because she wasn't supposed to know. But she did. "I hope you made them pay."

He must have appreciated the malice in her voice, because one side of his mouth twitched up, just slightly.

"Not _this_ time," he said. "Not yet."

After Len's revelation, they were quiet for a long time. Eventually they cleaned up the food wrappers and moved back to their respective corners of the bench, lost in their own thoughts. Sara couldn't quite believe Len had trusted her enough to show her how he'd been hurt. Maybe it was because they were strangers, because he thought he'd never see her again. The thought made her sick, though not as much as the sight of his bruised arms.

"What was that?" he asked, startling her from her reverie.

She shook her head. "I didn't say anything."

He furrowed his brow, gazing at her with a question in his eyes. That's when she heard a quiet moan, and felt her own brows furrowing. Simultaneously, they looked to the lump at the side of the cell. It _moved_.

"Heeeeeey Macarena!" A muffled, off-tune cry rang through the cell.

_Uh oh._

Slowly, a head pulled itself from the mass on the floor. Bleary eyes blinked open behind long bangs as a body became discernible under a long brown coat. With blond highlights on a fluffy bob haircut, little hoop earrings and a chain necklace, Sara almost thought it was a girl. But then he shifted, revealing a bare, broad chest beneath the coat. She quickly realized that he was wearing nothing more than the coat and a pair of loose sweatpants.

"What's happening, man?"

Sara and Len exchanged an uneasy glance. Their newly-wakened cellmate was a bit unsteady, leaning back on his palms and still somehow swaying back and forth.

"Hey, I could really go for some waffles right about now, you know, man?" he asked no one in particular.

"I wouldn't," Sara said. "You look like you're about to hurl."

"Hmph." He tapped his bare feet together absently, eyes wandering around the cell. They landed on Sara briefly before coming to a rest on Len. He shook his hair out of his face, breaking out an easy smile. "Hey baby," he said. "How 'bout we get outta this place? I won't tell no one your name."

Len crossed his arms, amused smile playing at his lips.

"Looks like you've got an admirer," she teased him, because those sweatpants didn't leave much to the imagination.

Len turned to her, smirking. "Oh?" he asked. "I thought my admirer was _you_."

She breathed out a laugh, trying to ignore the flush heating under her cheeks.

"Well, look who finally decided to wake up!"

Sara jerked her head to the opening of the cell, where Officer Daley was setting up a fan. She'd been so distracted that she hadn't even noticed him approach. He pressed a button and the fan turned on, breathing blessed cool air into the cell.

"Since you're awake," Daley said, twisting the lock to the doors open. "Let's get you out of here."

"What's he in for?" Len asked as Daley attempted to scoop the man up under the arms.

"Public intoxication and indecent exposure," Daley said, pulling him up to his feet. "I heard he came in wearing nothing but his birthday suit. We had to get him these from unclaimed storage," he nodded at the coat and sweatpants. _Gross_.

"Hey, where're we goin'?" the man slurred.

"We're going to get you home," Daley appeased him. "Come on now."

But the man wasn't having it. He dropped down suddenly, surprisingly nimble for his lack of sobriety, escaping Daley's grasp. Before Daley even knew what was happening, the man had struck him hard across the face with a right hook.

"Woah," Daley staggered back, one hand over his eye and the other reaching for his baton.

But then Len was there, throwing his own punch at the drunk to stop him from attacking Daley. The man crumpled to the floor.

Daley gaped at Len. "Thank you," he said, clearly a little stunned.

Len raised his eyebrows. "That hurt didn't it?"

"Thanking you? Yeah, more than the punch."

Daley called for backup, overseeing as two officers came to collect the unconscious man. "Take him to solitary for now," Daley instructed before turning back to Len and Sara.

"We're still waiting for that security footage," he told them, stepping out of the cell and locking the door behind him. "But I did hear from some of the witnesses. I'm not going to ask what you were really doing at that bank, Snart, but thanks for that too."

Len shrugged, but she could see the satisfied smirk pulling at his mouth.

"What happened to the real robbers?" Sara asked.

"They're all at the hospital, under observation for concussions," Daley replied, turning to her. "Thank you, too."

She followed Len's lead and just shrugged. "How much longer do you think it'll be?" She held her breath, almost afraid for the answer.

"No idea," Daley said, wincing as he touched a hand to his forehead. "Could be hours. Let us know if you need anything." Sara sighed in relief as he walked away, the sound of his footsteps quickly fading.

She turned to Len, and he turned to her. Finally, they were well and truly alone.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We made it - the end of part one. But, we're only about halfway through what I have planned, so if the end of this chapter isn't happy, that's because it's not the end! I did promise a fix it after all, even if it's taking a little longer than I thought, and we're going to get there. I hope you all enjoy the journey in the meantime! Please note, there are references to Len's alcoholic father and abuse in this chapter. As always, thanks so much to ClaudiaRain for all the feedback and support on this, and for collaborating to help me write that conversation about Len's dad. Disclaimer: I don't own LoT.

**Central City – April 24, 1996**

_The last time we were alone, I kissed you. The last time we were alone, you…_

_No. That was a different man_.

The argument played over and over in Sara's head as she stood before Len in their empty cell. It didn't stop her from wondering what it would be like to kiss him again ( _for the first time_ ), what it would be like to run her fingers through his dark hair, to touch his face, to trace lines across those bare arms she'd never seen before, bruises and all...and it didn't stop her from wishing that she could.

But she didn't think she could survive another kiss goodbye.

She'd settle for telling him, she thought, telling him something, anything. The way he was looking at her sent a thousand words flitting through her heart – all the things she'd never said to him, everything she hadn't realized she'd needed to say until it had been too late. A thousand things she could, should say in _this_ moment, but of course the only words that come out are:

"Your stance was off."

"What?"

Internally, she smacked herself. _Real romantic._ His expression, so thoughtful one second – turned completely confused the next. They were still standing at the edge of the cell, the space so quiet now that Daley and their drunken cellmate were gone.

"When you punched that guy," she continued, flustered, scrambling for anything to say to break the tension, "your stance was off."

"What are you getting at?"

Honestly, she wasn't sure – she could barely think when he was this close to her. She gestured to his hand. "Do you even know how to throw a punch?"

He quirked an eyebrow, but didn't move when she stepped even closer to him. _What are you doing, Lance?_ She had no idea. She was moving completely without thought now, taking has hand in both of hers, gently folding it into a fist. "Keep your thumb on the outside," she said. "If you don't, you'll end up breaking it. Trust me."

His voice floated down to her, as if from very far away. "You don't say?"

She barely even heard him, too fixed on the sight of their joined hands. "Hold it like that," she said, distantly. "And make sure to hit with your knuckles, like this." She rubbed the knuckles of his first two fingers with her thumb. "Or you could break your whole hand."

She looked up at him then, and her breath caught in her throat. He hadn't flinched or pulled away, and he certainly hadn't been careful about her personal space all day. But there was something raw in his eyes, like she'd torn him open and he was just now realizing that she could see inside. She became very aware of the way her fingers tingled against his skin, of how warm he felt, the way he leaned into her touch. Several long seconds passed, and she found herself leaning in, a little, too…

 _You are in 1996 and this is madness,_ the little voice in her head whispered. Reluctantly, she stopped herself, dropping his hand and awkwardly stepping away. With the fan blowing into their cell, she felt a little cold at the sudden absence of his body next to hers.

Len coughed, taking a step back, too. "Could I ask where _you_ learned how to fight?"

She shrugged, trying to play it off. "Could you believe I took karate lessons?"

He raised an eyebrow. "That wasn't karate."

"Then no." She paused. "But I could show you a thing or two."

There was something guarded in his expression as he met her eyes again – something cautious. She held her breath, waiting for him to respond, wondering if she'd crossed an unspoken line. But then he nodded, slightly, and the tension in her chest released. She felt herself smile, just a bit.

They moved to the center of the cell, taking advantage of all the space they could get.

"Just shadow box a little for me," she said. "Let me see your stance again."

He rolled his eyes, but complied, giving her the chance to see what they were working with. His style was all street – messy, even a bit reckless. Far from her League-trained precision, and no wonder he was more comfortable with a gun. She let him carry on a while though, because, well, who could blame her?

"Who taught you how to fight?" she asked, finally, gesturing for him to stop. "Was it your partner? The big guy?"

He folded his arms across his chest. "So what if it was?"

She looked him up and down, and his eyes followed her as she began walking in circles around him.

"He taught you how to fight like a big guy, like him," she said. "But you're not a big guy."

Sure, he was tall. But "big"? No. He was too lithe, too lean, too – best stop thinking about it, she realized.

"Gee, thanks," he replied. Oh, she'd hit a sore spot.

"What?" She asked, innocently. "It's not an insult. Look at me. I'm not big, and I terrify you."

"A little," he admitted.

She couldn't help but smirk at that. Then she sighed, coming to a stop in front of him.

"You can't fight like a big guy." She shook her head. "No. You have to play to your strengths."

He raised his eyebrows just slightly, and she could tell she had him intrigued.

"What might those be?" he asked.

She resumed her circling, taking full advantage of the opportunity to openly stare at him, for once. He was a bit smaller than she remembered – apparently he wasn't quite done filling out. But it was still _him_. And she'd always enjoyed the view.

"You have a lot of advantages," she started, still appraising him. "You're smart," she said, counting off on her fingers. "Fast," she added. "And you can be intimidating, too." She stopped in front of him again, tilting her head as she considered. "It's those eyes," she decided. "They're scary."

"Scary?" he asked, and he almost sounded offended. Then his expression changed, from wounded to pleased in an instant when he realized how she was looking at him. His eyes darkened.

"Wait," he said. "You _like_ that."

He was right, but hell if she'd admit it. So she held her best expressionless poker face – or at least she tried.

"Watch your mouth," she warned.

"Or what?" he challenged.

She had him twisted back in a chokehold before he could even blink, his arms bent roughly behind his back in her one hand, his neck under her elbow.

 _Oh, of course, Lance, you just couldn't resist, could you?_ There was the sensible part of her brain, back again.

 _Well, maybe it's time someone taught him a little lesson,_ the reckless part of her argued.

He bent his head back to peer up at her, eyes still somehow challenging even though she'd cut off his air supply. Looking at him upside down, it took her a moment to realize that through his pained expression he was actually smiling.

She released him immediately, spinning away from him.

"Ugh, you liked it!" She brushed herself off, feeling dirty.

He was bent over, hands on his knees, somehow both coughing and laughing at the same time.

_So glad_ _you_ _find me funny_ _, stupid, little –_

"We're done," she spat, glaring at him as his body shook from laughter.

"No," he stood up slowly, eyes still dancing even as he pounded on his chest. "I'm sorry," he added, and she had to wonder if that was the first time he'd ever apologized to her. Or anyone. "You just made it too easy," he teased, sighing as he finally caught his breath.

Well, maybe that was true.

She harrumphed, folding her arms across her chest, eyes still narrowed at him. He ducked his head down, apologetic, expression almost pleading. Almost like a puppy dog, she thought. She never knew he could look like that. Her glare faltered as she thought about _her_ Leonard.

Her mouth twisted into a deeper frown as she realized she couldn't deny him a thing.

"Fine," she groaned, looking away as his mouth curved up in a smile. "But you'd better behave."

"Can't make any promises," he warned.

She supposed his track record was notorious for bad behavior. Maybe that was what she was hoping for, in the worst way.

They spent what felt like a long time just getting his stance right. After a while, Sara gave up trying to explain how he should hold himself ( _even Kendra-I'm-just-a-barista-Saunders was easier to teach_ ), and resorted to adjusting him herself.

"Like you're drawing a bow and arrow," she repeated for the umpteenth time. She nudged his foot into place with her own and pushed his shoulder back a few inches, her chest brushing his in the process.

"And remember to follow through." She placed her hands lightly on his hips to demonstrate, turning him slightly, not even thinking as the motion brought his thigh into contact with hers. She froze at the unexpected touch, eyes lifting slowly to his as the rest of her body refused to move.

For a flash she thought it was _him,_ for a flash she saw his gray hair, his searching eyes, the hard lines of his face, and she realized she never wanted to let go. But then the hard lines faded to softness, and she remembered where she was – when she was, and who she was and wasn't holding. Her hands tightened slightly on his hips before she finally released him.

Only to feel his hands as they lighted on her hips, drawing her back in.

She gasped, grabbing onto his waist as she nearly lost her balance from the sudden movement. This time, when she met his eyes, she saw nothing but the want there, felt nothing but the heat radiating between them. He swallowed, eyes moving to her mouth. Her stomach fluttered. She realized, belatedly, that she was biting her lower lip.

She took a deep, shuddering breath, and lifted a hand to his face. She hesitated a moment, holding her fingers a hair's breadth away from his cheek before moving to cup his chin.

"You…" she started, but her mouth had gone dry. She licked her lips, and his face lowered toward hers. "You…were just pretending to be bad at this, weren't you?"

Against his will, she was sure, his face cracked into a smile. "Maybe," he hedged. She couldn't help but smile too, rolling her eyes as she playfully pushed his face away and broke out of his grasp. He let her, but the look on his face – little smirk on his lips and glint to his eyes – told her he hadn't given up yet.

_If you want to steal a kiss from me…_

"Alright," she said, rolling her shoulders. "Then show me what you've really got."

 _Dangerous, Lance,_ the little voice said. Maybe that little voice was right, but she wasn't going to be here much longer to watch his back, was she? If she could teach him a few League moves to protect himself better, she had to do it. _He was fine in the original timeline without you_ , the voice reminded her. But it didn't stop her desperate, useless need to protect him.

So she took him through a few rounds of exercise, careful to keep her distance this time. He was much better than he'd let on, and better still with her instruction. They worked for over an hour, at least, until they were both too tired and hot to continue.

They retreated back to the bench. Sara sat in her corner, but this time Len sat in the middle, much closer to her than he had before.

"Thank you," he said. His voice was soft, expression thoughtful.

"Thank you for saving my life," she returned, if grudgingly. He nodded, looking down at his feet for a moment before glancing back at her.

"I was visiting my sister."

His words, spoken so suddenly, hung in the air like smoke after a gunshot.

"What?" she asked. Her stomach twisted painfully when he looked away from her.

He shrugged his shoulders, jerking his chin toward his arms. "You asked what happened."

She nodded, stunned. "You don't have to tell me."

"I know."

He stared straight ahead, mouth a flat line. She waited, tracing his profile with her eyes until he spoke again.

"Sunday afternoon. Went home to pick her up." He swallowed. "Our dad was there. Hadn't seen him in months…I had no idea he was even in town."

He coughed, awkwardly, and shifted, head thumping back against the wall.

"I came in, and Lisa was screaming." His face twitched. "Dear old dad was home, drunk as ever, trying to beat down the bathroom door. Our mom was in there, hiding." His voice broke. "I keep telling her to get a restraining order," he growled, sudden anger coursing through the words. Then he sighed, and the anger was gone, replaced with a vacant stare. "Not like it would've helped."

He glanced at Sara out of the corner of his eye, assessing her reaction before continuing. "Lisa was blocking the door. He didn't like that. I got between them. He liked that even less." He took a heavy breath, holding out his arms and studying them, distantly, as if he didn't feel the pain. "We don't have a kitchen table anymore."

Sara tried to block the image of it, wincing in spite of herself.

"Why didn't you fight back?" she asked, surprised at the anger in her voice. But she knew he _could_ fight, so why hadn't he –

"He's my father," Len's voice had dropped an octave. And she suddenly understood it wasn't always that easy, that things weren't always black and white.

"No…I get it." Her words were close to an apology.

"Do you?" he challenged. "Do you get it?" There was something hollow in those words, a mix of grief and…guilt?

"I don't –" she started, but he cut her off before she could get any further.

"He's my father," he repeated harshly. "And I would have killed him without hesitation."

 _Oh._ She exhaled slowly.

"That's the problem," he continued, bitterly. "Some people deserve killing, but what the hell do you do when it's your _dad_? When your little sister, your mother, are there to watch you do it?"

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah…me too." Len shook his head, still looking down at his arms. "The worst part wasn't getting hurt, it wasn't even wanting to kill him. The worst part was hearing my baby sister screaming for me, and knowing that I failed her, because I let her be in that situation in the first place."

More than anything he'd said, that thought broke her.

"Your sister is lucky you were there for her," she protested. "She's lucky to have you."

He scoffed. "I don't think so."

"It's true," she insisted. "I have a – had, a sister. I wasn't there for her when she needed me."

He turned his head toward her, question in his eyes. "What happened?"

"She was stabbed in the gut," Sara said, bluntly. It was a little more complicated than that, but that was the only part that mattered, right? "And I wasn't there. I should have been."

Len shook his head. "It wasn't your fault," he said. "You can't be everywhere. You can't fix everything. I know that doesn't make it better, but…it wasn't your fault."

She wasn't sure she was ready to accept that, but she nodded. "Back at you."

He shrugged, surprised to realize his advice could apply to him, too.

Her heart twisted as she studied him. He was the only one she'd ever been able to show the darkness to, the only one who really understood it, accepted it, and even…lifted her out of it.

It was a wretched thing to realize, now that it was too late.

"Have you ever thought about time travel?" she blurted. She wanted to tell him then, she wanted to tell him everything. But she couldn't, she knew that. She knew it.

"I mean, if you could go back in your life...change something...would you?" she added, twisting what she'd been thinking, trying to recover the conversation.

"I might...try to stop my dad from going to prison." He nodded, slowly, considering it. "But," he added, "if it all led to me being right here, right now?" He met her eyes for a moment, before looking back down. He shrugged, shaking his head. "Then I wouldn't risk it."

She was stunned. He'd only known her a few hours, and he would still accept the years of heartache his father put his family through, just to meet her?

"How about you?" he asked. "Anything you would change? Your sister? The heartbreaker?"

 _Yes,_ she thought _. I would save Laurel. And I would save you._ She almost spilled everything right then, she almost let the words on the tip of her tongue fly out – _I'm from the future, and where I come from, in 20 years –_

But she couldn't. Rip had told her plenty of times she couldn't save Laurel, and if there'd been any way to save Leonard, the others would have thought of it. And they hadn't. So what would telling Len change, besides making him think she was a lunatic, or terrifying him with the knowledge of his own death? Causing him to never get on the Waverider in the first place? The only thing it would do for certain, she thought, was ruin this very moment – and this was the last time, the very last time she...

"There are a few things I wish I could change," she said, swallowing. "But I wouldn't change this," she added, shaking her head. "I wouldn't change now."

And that was the truth. She would never, ever want to take this back. As much as it pained her, she'd never want to take back knowing him.

He smiled a little at that, though he tried to hide it. They were quiet for a while, each lost in their own thoughts.

Finally, he spoke again.

"So, not married…" He took a deep breath, looking her up and down. "Boyfriend?"

She just snorted and rolled her eyes. But she had to admit, it was cute that he would pry.

He raised his eyebrows. "Oh," he said lightly. "Girlfriend, then?"

 _Well_. "Not at the moment." She eyed him right back, playfully. "How about you, Len? You got a girlfriend?"

"I don't do girlfriends." _Typical._

"Ah." She wiggled her eyebrows. "Boyfriend, then?"

He just smirked. "Where are you from, anyway? Can't be around here – think I'd remember those eyes."

"Starling City."

"So what brings you to town? You a transplant?" He picked at his nails – as if he didn't care about her answer. Too bad for him, she knew that was one of his tells.

"Just visiting," she said, noting the flicker of disappointment that crossed his face. "I'm leaving as soon as we get out of here."

"Back to Starling?" he prompted.

"I'm going much further out of town, actually."

"So cryptic. Are you hoping I won't be able to find you after this?"

"You won't," she promised.

"You don't know me. I'm persistent."

Unfortunately, it took more than persistence to travel time. It took a huge hunk of high-tech metal, and even then, it turned out there were still some places in time…some people…it would always be impossible to reach.

Suddenly, she felt acutely aware of the amount of time that had passed since they'd been dumped in this cell. It couldn't be much longer before the cops finally released them, and there was still one thing she needed to know before that time came.

"Why did you come back, anyway?" she asked. He raised his eyebrows, not understanding. "Earlier, at the bank," she clarified. "You and your partner were _gone,_ so why…?"

Was he...blushing? No, he couldn't be, because Leonard Snart did not _blush_. But Len, apparently, did – and most certainly was, she realized with no small amount of satisfaction. He avoided her gaze for a moment, then sighed.

"Were you _aware_ of how you were staring at me?" he drawled, casting her a sidelong glance. "Read between the lines."

She felt her mouth curve into a real smile. It made her face hurt a little, the muscles were so out of practice. But, she couldn't help it – the thought of young Len, coming back for another look at the pretty girl, _her_.

"First of all," she started, grinning, "I'm pretty sure it was _you_ staring at _me,_ okay?" She paused, savoring the moment. "What, were you going to _ask me out_?" She couldn't keep the laughter out of her voice.

He shrugged, but she could tell by the pink tinge lingering on his cheeks it was all feigned nonchalance. "Maybe," he hedged, admitting nothing. "It all worked out in the end, anyway."

She laughed, really and truly, and it felt like coming back to life.

"Oh, this is your idea of 'working out'?" she gestured to the dirty walls of the dank cell. "But I guess this would be a hot date, for you."

He twisted toward her so they were face-to-face, leaning his shoulder against the wall. He appraised her. "You think you've got me pegged," he challenged. Oh, he was _flustered_. It was almost diabolical how adorable it was.

"Uh-huh," she nodded, still grinning. "I do. And you're not half as bad as you let yourself believe."

"Oh, you don't think so, hmm?" He edged closer, fixing her with a pointed stare. "Why don't you let me prove it?"

She crossed her arms, shaking her head. "You've already proved everything I need to know."

And he had, hadn't he? No matter what else he'd done with his life, this was the man who would have taken a bullet for her, a stranger. The man who stood between an abusive drunk and a little girl. One day, he would give her his coat while they froze to death, and trade his life for…her, for their team, for the world. Her heart ached, wondering how she'd ever doubted he was capable of that.

But he wasn't ready to let her believe it. "I'm a criminal," he argued."Through and through. I've done things that would make you cringe."

"I doubt it."

"And why's that?"

"Because I've killed men with my bare hands," she said. "Good men. Bad men. And some who were in-between. Like you." Somehow it sounded more like a proposition than the threat she'd meant it as. She watched as he debated whether it could possibly be true. But he'd seen her fight. And he'd seen her knives.

In the end he just shrugged. "Should I be worried?" He leaned towards her.

"Yes." And she meant it. She wanted him to be afraid of her, she wanted him to pull away – because she sure as hell couldn't.

But he didn't pull away. He looked down for a moment, then met her eyes. "You don't look proud of it."

She stared right back. "I'm not."

Suddenly she realized how near he was to her. He'd gotten so close, without her even noticing. He leaned forward again, sliding closer still, breaking into her space. She let him.

"Is that what today at the bank was about?" His voice grew quieter, more serious. "Redemption?"

She realized she was inching closer to him, too. She felt the draw like a tangible force, like the air between them was magnetized, pulling her in.

"Something like that. I believe anyone can change their fate. I have to believe it."

His face floated inches above hers, his blue eyes shining. "Anyone," he cocked an eyebrow. "Even me?"

It was getting difficult to breathe, and even more difficult to think. He was so close, so close now, she could feel the warmth radiating off his skin.

"Especially you," she murmured.

She let go of the leash she'd kept on her judgement. That's when her heart constricted, and she felt the raw, grievous _longing_ she'd held off for months curl up her stomach and settle in her chest like a disease.

And she was incurable.

His hand snaked behind her neck and she tilted her chin up, giving into it, letting her eyes fall shut. The last thing she could think was simply: _This is going to hurt_.

And then there was no room for thoughts. Not with his lips on hers, not with his hand wrapped in her hair, not with her heart beating so loudly in her ears. He smelled the same. _God_ , he _tasted_ the same. Except it was a million times better, and a million times worse, so tantalizingly simultaneously right and wrong.

He drew back slightly, lips hovering over hers, their noses still touching. She let out a sigh. _Let it be over. Let it never, ever end_. He ran his thumb over her cheek, and her eyes fluttered open into his. They were the _same_. They were the same eyes she belonged to, and the same that belonged to her. She never realized she'd been lost, so lost, without them.

But she had no time to dwell on it, because then he was pulling her mouth back to his, deepening the kiss, pushing her roughly back against the wall. She almost broke it off right then and there, running her hand up his arm and resting it at his shoulder, teetering between pulling him closer and pushing him away. But with her eyes closed, she could almost believe he was _hers_ , and, oh, to hell with it – she grabbed a fistful of his jacket and yanked him into her, closing the little space left between them.

If she was going to let herself spiral down this dark and twisted dream, she wasn't going to do it halfway. There were too many things left half-done and half-said between them as it was.

And it wasn't long before her lips were seeking his jaw, and his neck, and the dip in his shoulder before reclaiming his mouth, grasping his face in both hands. She was wild, she was furious, she was born and reborn. His fingers slipped up her thigh, up her hip, finally finding the skin at her waist; his tongue found the soft spot above her collarbone. She forgot and remembered, memories crystallizing and shattering behind her eyes. She looped her arm under his shoulder, pulling him closer, gripping the hair at the base of his neck, demanding more. His lips met hers again, and again, and again, each kiss a fleeting reminder of something she could never have. His hand stole up her spine, and she arched into his touch. His response was something guttural, and she nodded against his forehead in agreement, slipping into his lap.

Then he let his other hand drift from her hair to her cheek, and she froze as she felt the touch of cool metal slide against her skin. His ring.

He must have felt it, because he released her, lips parting with a smack. He pulled back enough to look her in the eyes, searching her face for what, she didn't know, until she felt his thumb rub away a tear she didn't remember falling.

"That bad, huh?" he asked with a teasing smile.

She tapped his cheek in mock reproach, her face hot. How could she explain what she'd been feeling?

"That good, then?" He quirked an eyebrow, studying her.

She decided she'd rather show him, taking his face back in her hands and kissing him again, hard. They stayed that way for an eternity, a lifetime, a second. Not long enough.

She was tugging at his lower lip with her teeth when the sound of clanking iron interrupted them. The door to the cell clanged open, and an awkward cough rang through the air. They sprang apart, rather poorly feigning innocence. It was Richard.

"They finally reviewed the security footage," he said. At least he had the good grace to look apologetic. "Once you give your witness statements, you'll be free to go." He winked at Len. "Hopefully, you can find somewhere a little more comfortable." He held the door open, and Sara stood reluctantly. _This is really it,_ she thought. It left her with a hollow ache in the pit of her gut.

"More comfortable than here? Not sure about that," Len quipped, leading the way out of the cell. He didn't know, couldn't know, that this dream they were in was coming to an end. She stared at the back of his neck, already feeling him slipping away from her.

They sat on opposite ends of the station, being questioned by separate officers. Sara tried to relay the events at the bank, but her eyes kept darting over to Len. His lips were moving, obviously saying _something_ , but his head was turned in her direction, his eyes on her the entire time. Finally, he smiled at her. It was the most genuine smile she'd ever seen on his snarky face, and it broke her heart. She tried to give him a small smile in return, but she felt herself grimace instead. The moments were speeding too fast now, rushing to the end.

And before she knew it, they were walking down the steps of the police station, the brisk gray light of late afternoon harsh on her eyes.

She sped up, not sure she could face him when she knew it would be the last time.

"Wait," he called, and she turned involuntarily. He held something out in his hand, skipping steps to catch up to her. She almost choked when she realized he had that stupid rainbow tie-dye scrunchie.

"Think you dropped this," he teased, offering it to her.

"Thanks. It, uh, belongs to a friend." She accepted it, cursing Ray to hell, placing it gingerly back in her jacket pocket. Miraculously, the jacket, and her knives, had all been returned to her. She turned away again, lump in the back of her throat, desperately making to leave.

But he stopped her again, a hand at her elbow, turning her to face him.

"Whatever you're thinking about doing next – don't," he said, ducking his head to look at her more closely. "Stick around for a while," he added. "Central City doesn't look like much, but the night life...and the company…are second to none."

She wanted so badly to say yes. _One drink couldn't hurt, could it?_ She bit her lip. _One drink will never be enough_.

She looked away. "I can't. I don't belong here."

"Where _do_ you belong?" he asked.

"I don't belong anywhere, really. Not anymore."

"I'll see about that," he challenged. She looked back into his blue eyes – just how she remembered them. She burned the image into her mind, her memory. She never wanted to forget.

"I wish I could let you." And she really, truly did.

"What happened to 'changing your fate'?" he protested.

She tried to pull herself away, she did, but he kept her in place, grabbing her hand. He held it for a moment, rubbing his thumb idly over her skin. Then he frowned, looking down at their joined hands.

"Where _did_ you get that ring?"

He held her hand up, looking more closely at the silver band. She panicked, and did the only thing she could think to distract him – she tugged at him, pulling his face down to meet her in a kiss.

This time, when they broke apart, she was all too aware of the tear trailing down her face. She squeezed his hand and let go.

"Goodbye, Leonard," she said, softly. His eyebrows furrowed, his mouth forming a question she didn't wait to hear.

It was only after she'd turned away that she really felt the pain. It was a little like being hit by Thea's arrows, she thought. All afternoon she'd just been caught in that numb disbelief, knowing what was coming, but not fully accepting it. And now this, she realized, the distance growing between her and all she'd ever wanted – _this_ was falling back off the ledge.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the kind feedback on the last chapter, it really means a lot to me! I'm so glad you're enjoying this so far. Note: This chapter is extra long, but if you make it through the emotional fallout from the last part, there's a light at the end of the tunnel. Thanks so much to ClaudiaRain for reading this through and offering great suggestions as always. You did easily beat me in our race to post, but I still won because we got an update on Causality way faster than normal, right? Disclaimer: I don't own LoT.

 

_Part 2_

_I don't belong anywhere, really. Not anymore._

_I'll see about that._

Sara stared listlessly out the window of that stupid, red Honda Civic. She couldn't say how long she'd walked before Ray and Jax had picked her up; she didn't even remember getting in the car. All she knew was that she could still feel the heat of Len's stare on her back, boring a hole into whatever was left of her.

_What happened to changing your fate?_

_Goodbye, Leonard._

She could still taste him. Could still see his lightning blue eyes before her own. The memories, so raw and fresh, ate away at her bit by bit, til she was certain that soon she'd be gone.

"You okay?"

Her eyes snapped to the front seat, Jax's voice thrusting her into reality. She swayed a little, looking at him without really seeing him for a few seconds before she realized he'd asked her a question.

"I just spent the day with a ghost," she said, coolly. "What do you think?"

He shrank back, as if she'd hit him. "Sara, I…"

"Forget it," she snapped, looking back out the window. She didn't want his pity, even though she could feel it oozing off him anyway.

"How did you guys even find me?" she asked, suddenly. She fished her earpiece out of her boot, sighing at the released pressure on her ankle. It had been there all day, so how could they have known…?

"Gideon turned on your comm remotely," Jax said, pointing at the device in her hand. "Then Ray futzed with the frequency on his piece til he could hear you getting released. Nearly blew out the speaker turning it up so high."

A heart-stopping chill spread through her.

"Ray," she said, voice turning deadly. "What did you hear?"

She met Ray's eyes in the rear view mirror. Her stomach dropped at the way his eyebrows furrowed, concern etched in every line on his forehead.

"Nothing," Jax supplied, innocently. "He said he could just tell you were moving, that's all. So we knew where to pick you up."

"Right," she said, still staring at Ray in the mirror. He'd looked away, but she could still see the guilt written all over his face. Her fingers clenched at her sides – he'd lied to Jax; she just knew it. And luckily, the kid believed him…but would anyone else?

The question was still echoing in her mind when they arrived at the vacant lot near the Waverider.

"A word, Ray?" she asked lightly, catching him by the elbow to stop him from following Jax into the waiting ship.

Ray turned, hesitantly, cringing at the look on her face.

"How _dare_ you?" She rounded on him as soon as Jax disappeared, mustering all her self-control to keep from slapping him.

"You were offline for hours!" he protested, denying nothing. "I was worried. Rightfully so!"

"You knew I was fine, thanks to that little stunt you pulled at the jail," she countered, closing the space between them. Even a head taller than her, he seemed to cower beneath her glare.

"I knew no such thing," he argued. "The police were showing no signs of releasing you, and you, you…" he trailed off, suddenly unable to find the words – or the heart – to continue.

"What about me?" she demanded. _Did you think I wouldn't come back?_ He said nothing, just stared at her with that infuriating air of concern. So she dropped it, moving on to the more important question: "How much did you hear?"

"Not much," he hedged, flinching and holding his hands up as she bit back a knee-jerk reaction to hit him.

" _How much did you hear, Ray?_ "

"I heard enough," he admitted, finally, seeming to regain his conviction as he stood up to his full height. "I heard you say you don't think you belong anywhere." He put his hands on her shoulders, voice turning soft. "Sara, you know that's not true, right? You belong _here_. We're a team..."

"What you heard is none of your business," she seethed, swatting his hands away.

"Of course it's my business! We are a _team_ ," he repeated.

_Some team_ , she thought, turning to go. _Not without him_.

"Just stay out of it," she ordered, dismissing him with a flick of her hand.

He caught it.

"Wait."

She spun around, startled at the force of his grip. "I'm done talking to you, Ray," she said, wrenching her hand free. But the damage was done.

"That's...that's Snart's ring." She froze, taken aback by the comment.

"Oh," she stuttered, struggling for speech as she fought the barrage of memories that swept over her. Those blue eyes. _Where do you belong?_ His fingers trailing her neck. His hands on her hips. His thumb rubbing over her skin. _Where did you get that ring?_ She swallowed. "Um. Mick gave it to me, for the mission, it was stupid, he –"

"You were in love with him," Ray cut her off, eyes widening. "Snart. You…still are."

She floundered, mouth opening and closing a few times before she could make any sounds.

"I... It's... That's a strong word." Why couldn't she deny it?

"Oh my god," Ray exclaimed, taking a step back. "You are! Oh my god." He ran a hand through his hair, stunned. "I mean, obviously I knew he was in love with _you,_ " he added, laughing a little in disbelief.

The words hit her like a slap to the face. _It's not true. He didn't..._

"No," she choked out, finally. "No, that's not…" She took a step back, the world tilting beneath her. "How would you even know?" she asked, voice threatening.

"I – well – he was always giving you those looks," he explained, faltering. "And, Mick may have said…something…" he trailed off. "This isn't helping, is it?"

She couldn't even speak. _I am a goddamn fool._ She swallowed, hard, her mouth dry.

"I'm so sorry, Sara," he shook his head, pleading, face twisted in guilt. "I didn't know you felt that strongly."

She turned away, heartbroken. "It doesn't matter now."

"Of course it does," he said, taking her gently by the arm, turning her back to him. "When I lost Anna..."

"It's not the same as that," she growled. She refused to believe it.

"Yes, it is," he argued. "Maybe you weren't engaged like we were, but when you lose someone you love, I mean, it doesn't matter what the label was –"

"We are not talking about this!" She pulled away from him. "I have to go deal with Rip, I'm sure he's pissed."

"I'll talk to Rip, don't worry about that," he said. "We all knew it was a bad idea to send you in alone. That's on him, too." When she looked away, unable to meet his eyes, he continued. "I know nothing I say can ever make it right, but, I am sorry. I didn't know..."

She put a hand up, stopping him. "It's over."

Even as she said it though, she knew it wasn't true. It wasn't over. Not with the memory of him still pulsing through her veins with every wicked beat of her heart.

She couldn't stand to be with Ray for another second. She turned on her heel, storming to the ship.

"Sara, you know I'm here if you ever need..." he called after her.

She cut him off, not even bothering to turn around. "Yeah, thanks. I'll keep it in mind." _Fat chance._

Her heavy footsteps echoed loudly through the hollow halls of the Waverider, but not loudly enough to drown out the memory of Len's voice in her head. _Sara_. She shivered, closing her eyes and willing it away. _Whatever you're thinking about doing next – don't. Stick around for a while._ But she couldn't. She'd let the moment pass and every step was ripping her farther and farther away from it, from him.

"Oh thank heavens, we were so worried!"

Stein.

Sara shook herself, clearing her vision of Len's phantom until she could see the older man's anxious face.

"Sorry," she said, trying – and failing – to sound contrite. "Things got a little out of hand…" _And by "a little out of hand" I mean everything went to fucking shit...as usual._

The professor, Mick and Jax were all waiting for her on the bridge, huddled around the control table. It struck her how wrong it seemed. _Leonard should be here, too_.

"Where's Rip?" she asked, avoiding meeting anyone's eye.

"Took the jump ship," Mick grunted.

"Why?" She frowned. "Where…when… did he take it?"

"A few hours from now." Right on cue, Rip stalked into the control room, holding up a large manila envelope.

"What's that?" Jax asked, warily.

"Evidence," Rip said, throwing the envelope down on the control table with a smack.

"Evidence?" Jax repeated, picking up the envelope and opening it, peering inside. "What kind of evidence…" he turned the envelope upside down, dumping the contents unceremoniously on the table.

Sara's stomach turned. Her witness statement, intake forms and a few sets of negatives scattered across the table. And…polaroid photos, maybe two dozen of them, all with her face staring up at her. They'd been taken at the bank, she realized, just after the police arrived.

Unable to stop herself, she sifted through them, gut clenching more and more with each new image. Len was in most of them, giving her heated stares and cheeky grins and generally looking like the arrogant ass he was, like he owned the place even in handcuffs. She pored over them all, drinking in the memories even as her body rejected them. She flipped over a photo that had fallen face down, and drew in a sharp breath. It was…it was her and Len, pressed up against each other as she was being handcuffed, her chin on his chest, his head bent down toward her, looking for all the world like they were about to kiss. Her fingers grazed lightly over the image as she remembered, too vividly, the feeling of being so close to him.

She glanced up across the table. Stein was staring at her, mouth slightly parted. He looked away as soon as she met his eyes, as if he'd caught her in some intimate moment. Next to him, Mick was staring at the photos with his arms crossed, his normally hard face twisted in pain.

"Oh," was all Jax could say.

"I was just lucky I was able to collect it all," Rip said, rubbing a hand over his face. He glanced at Sara out of the corner of his eye, giving her a look that was somehow pitying, mixed with his usual disapproval. "We barely averted causing just as big of a disaster as we came here to fix."

Mick's eyes, one moment so distant and lost in memories of his own, snapped onto Rip with a deadly glare.

"'We'?" Mick asked, voice murderous. He snatched Rip up by his shirtfront in one fluid movement, leaving the Brit dangling with only Mick's fist to hold onto. "' _We_ ' did not do this," Mick growled. " _You_ did."

Somehow, Sara didn't think he was referring to _this_ mission anymore. She could see it on his face, the same memories she fought when she looked at young Len, the same heartbreak, the same regret. She could feel the same tension in his body – the desperate wishing to go back, to fix the unfixable.

Maybe Rip felt it too. His eyes widened, his feet kicking at air. "Mr. Rory –"

Mick sucked in a deep breath and let it out, dropping Rip onto the floor. He closed his eyes, turning his face away from the captain, and Sara could feel him struggling to reign in his temper. She was a little impressed – the old Mick wouldn't have bothered.

Meanwhile, Rip ran his fingers through his hair distractedly, still glancing over at Sara with a horrible cross between guilt and frustration.

"If Ms. Lance had just –"

Sara would never find out what she _just_ should have done. Before Rip could finish that miserable thought, Mick released his restraint and his fist, slamming it into Rip's face with a growl.

Rip crumpled to the floor and stayed there, letting out a muffled moan as he cradled his face in his hands.

_Well,_ Sara thought, _he could've punched him harder_. She would know.

She turned back to Mick. He had his head tipped back and his eyes closed – in something like pleasure, she thought. " _Yes_ ," he groaned. "I've wanted to punch that bastard for _so long._ "

Stein and Jax, surprised as they were, didn't argue, although they did move to help the captain. Rip just shooed them away, and to his credit, didn't bother scolding Mick at all. Maybe he felt like he'd deserved it.

"Hey!" She twisted around, watching with some amusement as Ray jogged into the room. "There you guys are – woah, what happened here?" Ray's eyes swept over the scene: Rip rocking back and forth on the floor, Mick rolling his shoulders and looking ready for round two, the polaroid photos spread out over the table. "Do I even want to know?" he asked.

Mick grinned, evilly. "I'll tell you later, Haircut. Sorry you missed it."

"I'll be in my room," Sara sighed. She didn't think she could survive being in the same space as Ray when he kept looking at her with that kicked puppy face of his.

"No, you won't," came Rip's weak reply from the floor. He managed to sit up a little, reaching for the control table for leverage. "Agh," he groaned, touching his face. It was already swelling beautifully. "We need to make the time jump, now."

"What's the rush?" Sara asked, crossing her arms. She'd been hoping for at least a shower, just a chance to collect her thoughts and start to process the madness that had been this day.

Rip sat up fully, propping his arms on his knees and wincing – though not from the punch, she thought, by the way he was looking at her again, eyes full of sympathy now, and…grief. "Young Mr. Snart tracked down the getaway car a few hours after he was released," he said, waving up at the table and the photos there. "I saw him here when I took the jump ship out. We can't risk him finding the ship and upsetting the timeline."

Sara's breath caught in her throat. He'd really looked for her? And more – he'd chased down that stupid Honda Civic to the outskirts of town? _You don't know me. I'm persistent._

"Wait." She swallowed, hard, a sudden question shaking her entire body. "Did he remember this?"

She swiveled around to her teammates, looking each of them in the eye as she pointed to the photos on the table. "Did _our_ Leonard, the one who was on this ship, remember this?"

Rip winced again. "Twenty years from now, would you remember spending the day locked in a holding cell with someone?" he asked.

This day? She would never forget it. It would be burned into her memory forever, no matter how many times she died.

"But how could he?" The question came out as desperately as she felt. "We changed the timeline."

"Gideon?" Rip asked. "Pull up the timeline data."

"The timeline has reverted to its original state," Gideon's cool voice washed over them. "All anomalies have been resolved."

"Apparently, in our timeline, you have always gone back to this day, Ms. Lance," Rip explained. "It seems the anomaly that drew us in the first place was caused by the fact that, well, you hadn't been here yet." He sighed. "It doesn't make sense to me, either, but everything is a little stranger without the Oculus."

"Astonishing," Stein whispered. Jax elbowed him.

"Mick," Sara rounded on him. "Why didn't you tell me?"

He held his hands up, shaking his head. "I had _no_ idea this happened," he said. "Snart and I didn't speak for weeks after he called that job off. If it happened, if he remembered you, he never told me." He sighed, pain again twisting his gruff features. "But he never used to talk about things like that."

_All that time_ , she thought. All that time he orbited around her on this ship, every furtive glance and excuse to get in her space – had he remembered her? Had he figured out who she was?

What was it she'd told him?

_I believe anyone can change their fate. I have to believe it._

_Anyone. Even me?_

_Especially you._

And – he'd seen her wearing his ring. Oh, god, what had he thought? What had she done? _I started to wonder what the future might hold…_

"If we're getting out of here, let's do it now," she ordered. She couldn't stay here, where he was so close. She couldn't wait here another second, because if she did, there was no saying what she would do, what rules she would break, what bridges she would burn, to try and fix this.

"Gideon, prepare the ship. We'll jump to the Temporal Zone until we can figure out our next move," Rip instructed, finally climbing up off the floor and staggering to the pilot's chair.

Mick scooped the evidence of her trip back into the envelope as the rest of the team headed to their seats. "I'll hang onto this for now," he offered, giving Sara a pointed look. _Let me know if you ever want to see these again,_ was the subtext. But she wasn't sure she'd ever be ready for that.

The ship took off, and Sara felt something tangible snap inside her, something final and irreparable, like flying away from the Oculus all over again, but somehow…even worse. With a shudder, they arrived in the Temporal Zone, the Waverider suddenly rocking back and forth so violently that she grabbed hold of her restraints. Her stomach twisted and fell as the ship dropped and then rose, seemingly buffeted by some invisible force. _This is wrong,_ she realized with a jolt. Just as the swaying stopped, the ship shuddered again, and the lights flashed off with a whine.

"Gideon?" Rip asked into the darkness. No response. "Auxiliary power mode," Rip ordered. A little beep sounded, and dim lighting returned to the bridge.

"Gideon, status report," Rip tried, releasing himself from his harness and stalking over to the control table. When Gideon still didn't answer, he pulled up the data manually, scowling at what he saw.

"What'd we break this time?" Mick asked as the rest of the team joined Rip around the console.

"For once, I don't think it was us," Rip replied, expression darkening as he scrolled through the report.

They peered around Rip at the numbers. Even from just the little Sara had learned of these charts, she could tell it looked bad.

"It's the timeline," she realized. "It's completely unstable."

"Yes," Rip agreed. "Moving through it has caused a system shut down. We need to force a complete reboot to get Gideon back online and find out what happened."

"Why does it look like you think that'll be harder than it sounds?" Ray asked.

"Because," Rip said. "It could take a _week_. We can't just flip a switch; each program needs to be restarted individually, one at a time, or we could risk losing life support."

"What do we need to do?" Jax asked, rubbing his hands together and looking ready to fix the ship singlehandedly.

"All we can do is wait," Rip answered, punching in a final few commands. "It's an automatic function – and now that it's started… Well, settle in."

They looked around at one another uneasily. Without a purpose, without a new mission to focus on, they all tended to get a little stir crazy, and things had been even worse since their numbers shrank. And Sara could still feel the shadow of the day hanging over them, the unspoken concerns directed at her. So she took advantage of the opportunity to escape.

"Let me know if there's an emergency," she said, slipping out of the room before anyone could stop her. Finally, _finally_ , she could be alone.

* * *

It didn't help.

She tried working off the anger at first. She thought that maybe, if she just kept moving, if she could just build up a little sweat, kick a few training dummies to death, she could forget this – but it wasn't enough. So she pushed herself, harder and harder, past the point of wanting to collapse. The training room became covered in a constellation of holes from the hundreds of knives she unleashed on every surface. And not a single one made her feel any better.

Hours after the rest of the team had fallen asleep, she finally let herself wander over to where she'd really wanted to go as soon as she'd gotten back to the Waverider: the jump ship.

She knew it was madness, knew it was reckless and foolish and dangerous to even think about taking it. And yet, still, she touched her hand to open the door. She stepped inside. She stared, distantly, at the console. She sat in the pilot's chair.

The last entered coordinates flashed up at her. _April 24, 1996_. She thought about Len, still waiting for her there. It would be so _easy_ , so easy to meet him, to finish what they'd started. They could run away, she thought, desperately. They could have an entire life together. She'd seen it in his eyes: what they could have, what they could be. Her fingers twitched at the command key.

_The Waverider is broken,_ she remembered, harshly. _What if they can't fix it? Everyone else would be stranded…_

She slammed her fist on the console. She had to get out of there before she did something she could never take back.

Somehow, she found herself in the storage room, staring at a large crate labeled "L.S." Bless Ray, the sentimental sap. He'd packed all of Leonard's things away, refusing to get rid of anything at all. She snorted. It wasn't like the man was coming back for them. But here she was, sitting cross-legged before it.

She lifted the lid.

She couldn't bring herself to look inside. Instead, she reached a hand in, closing her eyes as she felt around. Her fingers lighted on a smooth surface first. Rectangular, about the size of her hand. His cards. Suddenly, she saw a flash of him shaking them at her, asking her for a game. She jerked her hand up and away, moved it over, tried again. This time, her fingers brushed soft fur – the hood of his parka. All she could see was the look in his eyes that first night when she'd asked him if he wanted to dance.

Her throat began to tighten, and she realized she couldn't do this, that she never should have come here. She lurched to her feet, swaying, the room spinning around her. Without thinking, she leaned down and scooped up a top layer of the crate, hastily replacing the lid as she rushed to leave. That's how she ended up running through the empty halls of the Waverider with an armful of Leonard's shirts and his stupid, stupid cards – the cards that she loved, because they made her think of him and she –

She collapsed onto her bed as soon as she made it back to her room. Heart pounding, she tossed off her shirt, trading it for one of his before she could think better of it. Despite herself, she sighed. It still smelled like him. She wrapped her arms around herself and curled up in a ball on top of the covers.

For the first time in what felt like weeks, she slept. And slept, and slept.

And dreamed. And dreamed.

And in her dreams, he was there.

In her dreams, they never leave that frozen room.

In her dreams they're together, his coat draped over her shoulders and his body pressed against her side as they sit shivering, dying together the way it always should have been.

"What's it like, dying?" he asks, his words a strange echo from the past. "What did you feel?"

She thinks. She knows what she said, then. She doesn't want to say it again.

Instead, she leans in, just slightly, and kisses him, his cold mouth melting against hers. It's what she always should have done.

"This," she whispers, the word turning to smoke between them. She studies the frost at his hair line, the snowflakes on his eyelashes, and kisses him again.

"This," she repeats, wrapping her arms around his neck and drawing him into her for another kiss.

_Like everyone I love is a million miles away._

Even as she kisses him again, she knows that's what he is now. A million miles away, and farther. Out of reach. Gone. Never coming back.

"This," she says, and his kisses say she never should have left him.

_I don't like you, but at least I'm not dying alone._

He takes her face in his hands, and it's a promise to never, ever let go. But he did. And she let him.

She'd do anything, anything to take it back.

"This is what we should've had." She shivers as quiet tears fall frozen down her cheeks.

She should have stayed with him. She should have died with him.

"This is what we lost."

One last kiss as the dream fades.

"This."

One last reminder that part of her will always be dying with him.

When she wakes she can still feel the chill of his hands on her face and the cool tingle of his lips on hers.

She wishes they had never left that room.

* * *

Sara wasn't sure how many days she passed sleeping off her emotional hangover. Three, four, longer? In the Temporal Zone, it was hard to say. She avoided the others, skipping meals entirely and hardly leaving her room. She just didn't have the energy, or the heart, to deal with any of them.

At the start of what she guessed was their sixth day in limbo, Rip made a valiant attempt at reaching her.

"Please, Sara, we just want to see you eat something," he called through her closed door. But without Gideon online, he couldn't bypass her security.

"I'm eating," she lied. "I'm just tired right now."

Despite Rip's protests, she refused to say anything else. In the end, he gave up, leaving her to wallow in peace.

It was quiet for a long time after that when her door opened without warning.

"Hey," she glared at Mick, standing there with a plate of food. "That was locked."

"Please," he rolled his eyes, looking anywhere but at her.

_What a sight I must be_ , she thought. Laying there in Leonard's shirt, playing solitaire with his cards. She was a wreck and she knew it.

He set the plate by her head with a clatter.

"I promised the others I'd make sure you eat," he said, standing over her. She flipped over a set of cards, undeterred.

He sighed, sitting down next to her bed on the floor. _Settle in,_ she thought. For a while, neither of them moved.

"We all miss him," he said at last, his gruff voice grating on her ears.

"Some more than others," she retorted.

"And none more than us," he countered.

"True," she admitted, glancing at him from the corner of her eyes.

They were quiet while she shuffled, laid out a new game, lost, and started over.

Finally: "I'm not leaving until you eat something."

She sighed, glancing at the plate – it had to be cold by now. But, Mick's presence was getting uncomfortable, and she knew he wasn't bluffing.

"Fine." She stabbed a piece of broccoli and shoved it in her mouth. God, awful. She regretted it immediately, but forced herself to swallow.

"There." She glared at him. _Traitor._

"Come on," he chided. "The chicken's not bad. Even cold. It was Haircut's turn to cook…he's pretty good."

"Oh, you're a fan of Ray's cooking now, hmm? I'm glad you two are bonding."

He ignored the jibe, glancing down at the plate, then back to her. It was a challenge.

So she took another bite. And another. And another. She managed to get through half the portion before she thought she might hurl. She pushed it away.

"Happy?" By the look on his face, she knew he wasn't. Neither of them was. But he nodded, slowly.

He didn't leave.

"It would be a shame to never talk about him again." This, from Mick Rory. It was actually infuriating.

"Them," she corrected, without looking at him. "My sister died, too, you know."

He grunted. "Yeah," he agreed. "And you, too, by the looks of it."

She snorted. "Thanks, Mick."

"He didn't die so we could quit living." The most profound words to come out of Mick Rory's mouth. She couldn't help how mad they made her. She turned over on her side and gave him her best _I-could-kill-you-for-days_ stare.

"No, he died to prove a point." It was the most selfish, angry thing she'd been dying to say. "And I hate him for it."

"You can blame me." Mick's stare must have been as cold and hard as hers.

Her throat was sticky and hot. "No," she choked out. "I blame me." She could feel all the heat rise to her face as the guilt bubbled to the surface. "I let him." She whispered. "You were out cold, and he told me to take you, and there was no time. But I shouldn't have left. I shouldn't have left him. If I hadn't…"

"All three of us would've died if you hadn't," he argued. "I know Snart. There was no reasoning with him. He made up his mind and it was his choice. Like it or not. There was nothing you could do." Suddenly her face was wet, and Mick was just a blob on the floor.

"I'm sure he was glad you respected him enough to let him go," he added. "He didn't trust me with that."

She shuddered. _Deep breath, in, out._ She squeezed her eyes shut. _In, out. You are Ta-er al-Safar._ She went to wipe her face with her sleeve, but Mick put a napkin in her way.

"Wouldn't want to ruin that shirt." He raised his eyebrows. "I think we need a drink. Or ten."

She sat up, nodding. He left the room, and for a moment she gave in to her feelings. Every messy, tear-stained sob a reminder of what she had lost. Of what she missed. Laurel, her sister. And Leonard, her thief.

By the time Mick came back she had nothing left, and that was a strange relief. He held a wet washcloth up for her face, which she gladly accepted. It was even warm, and she was surprisingly touched by the gesture.

When she was finished cleaning herself up, he poured them each a glass of whiskey and raised his glass.

"To Laurel," he said, solemnly.

"Laurel," she agreed. They drank, deeply. Just as he was refreshing their glasses, Sara's guard went up, and she realized there was someone lurking outside her door.

"Who's there?" she called.

"Oh, hi, just me." Ray appeared, cautiously, in the doorway. "Hey, where'd you guys find the good whiskey?" he added, eyeing their stash. "I thought Rip hid that for a special occasion."

"Think this qualifies," Mick growled. "Siddown, we were just about to propose a toast."

Ray accepted his drink from Mick – which was when Sara noticed that Mick had brought three glasses to begin with. She eyed him suspiciously, giving him a look that said, _Really?_

He shrugged, rolling his eyes and tilting his head in answer – _He's not so bad._

Ray looked at them expectantly, and Mick nodded to her.

"To Leonard," she said, her voice quieter than she meant.

"Leonard Snart," Mick answered. "Sonofabitch was the best partner I could ever ask for." He sighed. "And, he was a hero."

"No," Ray cut in. Sara frowned, exchanging a confused glance with Mick. Ray held up a finger, silently asking them to let him continue.

"He _is_ a legend," Ray amended. "And legends never die."

Sara and Mick shared another look, this time one of respect. Sara nodded – something told her Leonard would've liked that.

"Legends never die," they agreed.

After they'd each taken another shot for good measure, Mick leaned back on his palms. "What flicks are on the docket for today?" he asked, turning to Ray.

"Well, I believe it's lady's choice," Ray answered, raising his eyebrows at Sara. "And given that there's only one lady aboard this vessel, non-functioning AI's notwithstanding, that means it's your pick."

"What am I missing?" she asked.

"Without Gideon online to limit us to time-appropriate features, we've been having future movie marathons," Ray explained, face lighting up like a kid playing hooky. She raised her eyebrows. "We started with the near future," he assured her, and she couldn't help but smile a little at his enthusiasm.

"We're ruined on new movies til 2021," Mick added with a shrug. "Well, 'cept the rom coms. Haircut's watching those alone later."

"Hey, Jax said he was in for the Meg Ryan flick," Ray corrected. "She really makes a comeback," he added, for Sara's benefit.

"So what'll it be?" Mick asked, looking expectantly at Sara over the brim of his glass. She could practically hear his thoughts: _Don't break the kid's heart_. She wondered how long they'd been planning this.

"The next James Bond movie is really good," Ray suggested. "Mick and I were talking about watching that again if you wanted."

Honestly, all Sara really wanted was to go back to bed. Just this brief interaction had exhausted her, and she was ready to fall back into herself, into the loneliness.

But they were looking at her with so much hope...

"Are there any good martial arts movies in the future?" she asked.

Ray grinned. "You know, I think there are!"

"Come on, Blondie," Mick said, lifting himself off the floor and hoisting Sara up with him. "You'll flip when you see our home theater."

The boys led her down the hall, Mick guiding her with one hand and holding their whiskey with the other. Ray seemed elated, chattering on so animatedly about the best possible movie options, she barely registered when they'd arrived.

The door opened, and for a second she thought she really had entered a tiny movie theater. Plush theater chairs took up most of the floor space and a large screen covered the far wall. There was even an old-fashioned popcorn machine, the smell of oil and salt perking her up after the whiskey.

"This was Kendra's room," Sara realized, looking around with wonder at how they'd converted the tiny space.

"It was _our_ room for a while," Ray corrected. "But not anymore!"

"Finally turned that relationship into something productive," Mick added.

"Hey now, Kendra was very important in my life," Ray said, hurt.

Mick rolled his eyes. "She was never good enough for you."

Sara had to suppress a smirk – like some old married couple, it sounded like they'd had this argument before.

"How did you guys even put this together?" she asked, running a hand over one of the soft chairs and trying not to sound too impressed – although she was.

"Well, first we tried the fabrication room, but the chairs wouldn't fit through the door," Ray explained. "So I made a few adjustments…basically rigged the system to fabricate everything here, directly."

"Wow," she admitted. "Can I have some popcorn?"

Sara and Mick settled in while Ray browsed through options on his tablet. Standing in front of them, she couldn't help but notice when he added the filter "NO ROMANCE" to his search parameters. She tried not to smile – they didn't need to treat her with kid gloves, but, it felt strangely nice that they were.

"Mick," she said, voice low, patting his arm to get his attention while Ray was distracted. Carefully, she set her popcorn down and reached for the ring on her left hand. "I'm sorry I forgot to give this back to you sooner." She twisted the metal band off with a tug and held it out for him. She was surprised at how empty her hand felt without it.

His eyes narrowed, and he shook his head. "Nah," he said. "Looks better on your pretty hand than in my pocket, and I have his gun anyway. You should keep it." He paused. "That's what he'd want."

She hesitated for a moment before putting it back on with a sharp nod, suddenly overcome by a rush of gratitude and the need to push back fresh tears. Maybe one day, she thought, she'd be able to look at the damn thing without hurting.

"Alright," Ray turned back to them, setting his tablet down and clapping his hands together. "Drinking game: our standard rules apply – anytime someone says 'legend,' 'destiny,' 'hero,' 'villain,' or 'barista' – though I doubt we'll hear that in this movie – you drink. And since this is a kung fu movie, drink when anyone throws a punch or kicks, and you chug if someone defies the laws of nature. Got it?"

"Hand me a six pack for this," Mick said.

"You guys got a mini fridge in here too?" Sara asked, more impressed by the minute.

"We've got everything," Ray confirmed, handing out beers and settling in as he started the movie.

It still wasn't better, Sara knew, curling up into her seat and letting herself sink into the comfort of the movie and her friends, but it was a start.

They were past the point of just "drunk" by the end of the second movie, when Jax and Stein let themselves in.

"Hey, you didn't tell us you were starting movie madness!" Jax whined.

Ray, Mick and Sara were standing at the front of the room in the little space between the chairs and the screen, trying to imitate some of the fighting moves they'd seen.

"That is _not_ how you're supposed to do it," Sara laughed as Ray nearly fell over himself trying a spinning kick.

"Come on, you can help us pick out the next one," Mick ushered Jax and Stein into the room. "But you have to drink," he warned.

"If we want to keep up with you all then yes, it certainly looks like it," Stein joked.

Eventually, even Rip made an appearance, bringing more whiskey with him, to Mick's delight ("A peace offering," Rip said. "I'll take it under consideration," Mick agreed). They even let him pick out an old Western movie – just the one, though.

Sara wasn't sure what time she'd finally passed out. After most of the others, she thought, but with how far gone she'd been it was hard to say. When she woke, she found herself tangled in a blanket, popcorn falling out of her hair and her head on something a little more solid than a pillow should be. She glanced up slightly – _oh, Ray's stomach_.

They were all sprawled on the floor for the most part, pressed up against each other in the tiny space. Stein was the only one who'd managed to fall asleep in one of the chairs, she noticed with envy. As she picked herself up, (gingerly, not to exacerbate the throbbing in her head), she just heard the faint sound of Jax dry heaving from a few feet away.

"Oh no," she said, throwing an empty popcorn bucket his way. Based on the retching noise, he got the bucket just in time.

"Ugh, Jax," Ray complained, twisting around and burying his head into the floor.

"Next time, try and make it to the lavatory, Jefferson," Stein suggested weakly.

"Rise and shine everyone," Rip's voice came from the doorway. _When did he even leave?_ "Have a hangover pill and get up," the captain added, nudging Mick's sleeping form with his foot. "Gideon is back online, and we have some interesting information to review."

"The future is _awesome_ ," Jax sighed, accepting his pill.

* * *

 

A hot shower and a tall glass of water later, Sara met her teammates on the bridge for Rip's briefing.

"The instability is centering here," Rip said, pointing to a swirl of jagged lines on the timeline readout. "October 15, 2011, in Starling City." He zoomed in on the image. "It seems to be focused around an industrial district in the Glades."

"That's not far from Verdant," Sara realized. "Or, where Ollie will open Verdant. All the warehouses in that area were abandoned when the local crime became too much to continue operations."

"Yeah," Ray agreed, "the police pretty much gave up on that sector, and Oliver won't be there for what, a year yet?"

Sara nodded. "Something like that."

"Which would make it a perfect hideout for time criminals," Rip mused. "Alright. Gideon, set a course – and be sure to take extra safety measures for this jump. Flying directly into the instability could make for a bumpy ride."

Whatever Gideon did, it helped – but they were all still a bit shaken up by the time they arrived in 2011. ("Jax, do you need another popcorn bucket?" Sara teased. "I'll just make a stop in the lavatory this time.")

The Waverider opened its doors to a blustery fall evening, letting the team out in an empty field on the outskirts of the Glades. Sara stepped to the edge of the ramp, glancing up at Mick as he stared out at their surroundings: a small, abandoned house shadowed by a tangle of industrial warehouses in the distance. "Something's off," he muttered, scowling.

Jax and Stein exchanged a nervous glance and Ray frowned, pulling the visor of his Atom suit down. "Come on, guys," he said, ushering them into the waiting night.

They set out on foot, cutting through chain link fences to pass into the warehouse district, wind whipping at their faces and hands as the metal sprang free. They moved quietly through the empty streets, the only sounds their footsteps hitting wet pavement as they explored the area.

"The scanner is too sporadic now," Rip said, stopping them at a corner and staring dismally at the device in his hands. "We'll have to split up our search." He partnered off Jax and Stein, and Mick and Ray, nodding at Sara to affirm she was with him. "Be careful," he warned, before they went their separate ways. "We have no idea what, or who, we're dealing with. Call as soon as you encounter anything."

Sara and Rip slipped down a side alley between buildings, taking the east route while the others moved north and west. They'd only taken a few steps when a breeze slithered down Sara's back, and suddenly the moon passed behind a cloud, engulfing them in darkness.

"It feels wrong here," she whispered, shivering against the chill of the evening as she waited for Rip to pull a flashlight from his coat.

"Yes," he agreed. "Time is thin here. It's been distorted on this date over and over, and now it's practically splitting at the seams. Let's just hope we can stop whoever's causing it before it's too late."

Sara felt unease settle around them like a living, breathing thing, dogging their footsteps and nipping at their heels. It set her on edge, causing her to jump at any little disturbance. A distant thunderclap echoed through the buildings around them, shaking the wall she'd been leaning on, and she almost shouted. Instead, she shuddered, taking a moment to collect herself and her nerves. Rip didn't seem to be affected by the strangeness of this place, though. He moved quickly through the alley, not looking back as he stepped out and took his light with him.

"Rip, wait!" she called, as loudly as she dared. She rushed forward, pushing down on the anxious fluttering in her gut, exiting the alley only moments after the captain.

He was gone.

She swiveled around, confused. The light had moved to the right, she'd thought, but there was no light here, and no sound. Just the quiet, empty darkness. And her.

"Rip?" she tried, still keeping her voice hushed. She shifted her awareness out to the surrounding area, listening with the heightened senses she'd learned in the League, but as far as she could tell, she was alone.

A creaking whined to her left. _Not alone_?

Cautiously, Sara moved to investigate. There was an opening to one of the warehouses just steps away, and she walked through it. Maybe this was where Rip had gone.

The building was just as dark inside as outside, but by now her eyes had started adjusting to the lack of light. It was a large space, with industrial vents and rafters hanging from the ceiling, two or three stories above. It reminded her a bit of Verdant, she thought, suddenly wishing she had Oliver there to watch her back.

She tapped her comm, trying to tune into her teammates. Her heart sank when the channels came back static.

She moved deeper into the warehouse, stumbling as another wave of thunder crashed overhead. Foot smarting, she glanced up just in time to see a crack of lightning flash through a second story window, illuminating the area for the first time.

There was a hooded man, standing stock-still before her.

The lightning faded as fast as it came, but her mind raced. _Rip? No…_ For that brief moment, the figure had almost looked like…

Another flash painted faint blue light across the room.

The space was empty.

The man was gone.

_This is my imagination_ , she insisted, heart pounding. But if it wasn't, she'd been seen, too.

"Who are you and what are you doing here?" she demanded, calling into the emptiness. There was no point in hiding if she'd already been found, and she refused to let a phantom frighten her.

"Looking for you," came a whispering, echoing reply.

She jerked her head to the left, toward the source of the voice. Something about it stirred a dark place inside her, a memory as fresh and buried as a new grave. She pushed it aside.

"When I find _you_ ," she said, moving slowly across the floor, "I'll make you beg and bleed," she taunted, hoping to draw him out, knowing full well she could be rushing into a trap. _Bring it, time criminal._ She was a tense knot of nerves and she just didn't care anymore – if she went down, so be it. As long as she got in a good fight first.

"So cruel," the voice returned, softly. She shifted, trying not to come at him too directly, hoping he wouldn't move again.

"Don't you have a heart?" he added. She could see him now, just out of the corner of her eye, leaning against the wall.

"Not anymore." She slammed into him, immediately putting her knife to his throat.

He made no move to fight her.

"Is that so?" he asked, and her heart stopped.

His face was hidden by his hood, which she could see now was lined in fur. Fur that she recognized, fur that she had touched just a few days ago, in a storage bin in the Waverider. _No, it can't be…_

Fingers shaking, she lifted the fabric up and off his face. Another crash of thunder and lightning flashed, revealing his face in perfect detail.

And – it was _his_ hard mouth, _his_ straight nose, _his_ piercing eyes, _his_ gray hair.

She gasped, jumping away from him as if she'd been burned. She dropped her knife, stunned.

"You're dead." She choked out the words, her voice something between a sob and a threat.

He lifted his hands up, placating her, and the world wasn't straight anymore, no, it had turned completely crooked...just like him. And, was that fear in his eyes?

"You're _dead_!" She repeated, yelling it this time. Maybe if she said it with enough conviction, he would disappear like the hallucination he was and leave her in peace.

But –

"So were you, once," he said, grimly.

It was him.

It _was_.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very belated thank you to anyone who nominated me or this story for the CC Awards! I really appreciate all the feedback and the continued encouragement, it means so much to hear how much you guys enjoy this story - I hope you like this next chapter and that it was worth the wait! Special thank you to ClaudiaRain for all the support and for reading this over and offering so many thoughtful comments.

 

**Starling City – October 15, 2011**

A low rumble of thunder shuddered through the warehouse, reverberating through the walls, the floor, through Sara's very core. It shook something loose inside her, something feral and broken she thought she'd destroyed long ago.

_Back from the dead._

She felt her chest heave as she sucked in shallow breaths, lungs suddenly needy. The hairs on the back of her neck raised as her eyes roved wildly through the darkness, searching for anywhere to rest but on the man before her.

Leonard Snart.

_You're dead._

_So were you, once._

For a moment, everything was still. He waited, his eyes watching her with unsettling sharpness, his mouth a hard, thin line. It was exactly how she remembered him, exactly how she'd imagined him a hundred, a thousand times since the last time…the last time she –

_This isn't real. He isn't here. It isn't him._

She snapped.

" _How_?"

She heard the word escape her lips, but the sound she made wasn't a voice she recognized. It was rough, vicious, undone – and so was she, she realized, one hand suddenly fisted in his shirt, the other holding a knife to his throat.

She couldn't remember rushing him. She couldn't remember pulling out the knife. All she could grasp in that moment was the way her blood throbbed beneath her skin and rushed in her ears; the way her vision blurred in and out of focus as her fingers twisted harder around the handle of the blade.

_It's not him. He's gone. It's a trick._

"Who are you?" she screeched, pulling him forward just to slam his body back against the wall, hard. She felt herself give in to that part of her that existed only to take, and she was trembling, panting, raw fury buzzing through her as her lips curled into a snarl.

Whoever was responsible for this…illusion…this dark magic…was going to pay. She'd see to that.

And yet, why wasn't he fighting her?

"Sara," he said, and even through the haze she heard the plea in his voice. "Sara," he repeated, "it's me. It's me, Sara."

The way he said her name – _almost like a prayer,_ a small voice whispered – made her pause.

She swallowed, holding the knife closer to his skin. He twisted his face away, and the movement exposed his neck completely, almost as if he were offering it to her. She licked her lips.

Another crash of thunder rocked through the building, accompanied by a flash of blue light. It threw his skin into harsh relief, revealing a trail of goosebumps around where the blade was hovering, right where a dark line cut across his flesh.

She started, twisting the knife down and away from his neck. She hadn't drawn blood; she knew she hadn't. Not yet. But…

Her thumb brushed over the line. It was a scab – not fresh. She hadn't cut him. And yet, he had been cut not long ago, exactly where she'd held her blade.

The puzzle of it flipped a switch in her mind, and she came back to herself with a sudden, painful jolt. She sheathed the knife, eyes wide as they moved from the long, thin line, up his neck, and to his face – the same face that had been haunting her dreams.

_Leonard. Here. Alive._

_Alive?_

Pressed up against him as she was, she could feel his body sag in relief now that the knife was gone. But she didn't move away – she didn't let him go. Something kept her frozen against him, whether it was her lingering fear that this was all a trick…or the longing that had come to life in her chest at the sight of him.

"It's me, Sara," he whispered, again.

"How?" she repeated, and this time, it was her own voice she heard – sounding as scared and lost as she felt.

"I'm from the future," he said, slowly, softly. His eyes flitted down to meet hers, then darted away again. He winced, almost like the sight of her was too painful to bear.

"Is it really you?" she asked, her voice breaking. Her heart broke with it. If it was him, if he was alive, why had he let them think he was dead? "Where have you been?"

"Nowhere I could have reached you," he said, grimly. He took a deep breath, and her fingers splayed across his chest involuntarily. Suddenly, she was overwhelmed by their closeness, overcome by the nearness of him, the smell of him – just the same as she remembered.

He looked down at her, and she was struck by how completely right he was. _The same eyes I belong to,_ she thought. _The same eyes that belong to me._

_I was so lost without you._

He held her gaze for a long moment, letting her spiral down into the dream of it. _Let it be true._

"Listen," he said, finally, looking away again. "We don't have much time – there's a bomb. This entire warehouse is going to blow in about five minutes."

"How do you know?" she asked, mind reeling. _Is it true?_ _Are you alive?_

"I'm from the _future_ ," he repeated. "And I'm here to tell you one thing, and one thing only: You need to go see Cisco Ramon in Central City at S.T.A.R. Labs on April 16, 2016."

She shook her head, trying to process the insanity of what was happening, what he was saying. Her eyes searched his face, then took in his fur hood, his coat, glancing down to his hands…

"Why...wait." She stopped, realizing there was something missing. "Where's your ring?" she asked, staring at his empty fingers.

His gaze moved to her left hand, resting on his chest.

"You're still wearing it," he said, meeting her eyes, and her heart stopped.

_Still_.

She glanced down at her hand, too. The ring was completely hidden by her glove, so how could he –

"You know I have this?" she asked, barely breathing out the words.

"Yes," he said, gravely. "I know. Just like I know this was the only reason you didn't slit my throat." He tilted his head back, indicating the thin scab on his neck that had snapped her out of her blood lust.

She paused, staring at it for a moment. How could he have known that?

"It wasn't the _only_ reason," she muttered.

He chuckled, darkly. "Good to know." Then his humor evaporated, and he swallowed. "Listen, Sara, I'm from the future. You have to believe me. I know you have my ring. I know sometimes you catch yourself waiting for me outside my old room on the Waverider. I know you stole my cards and half my shirts out of storage."

She froze, a jolt of surprise rushing down her spine. No one knew she waited for him. Only Ray and Mick knew about the ring and his cards and shirts. If _he_ knew, either he was a figment of her own imagination, or…he was telling the truth.

_It's true,_ she decided, pressing her fingers into his chest, grounding herself in the faint thrum of his heartbeat. _He's real._ She couldn't accept any alternative.

True and real as it was, somehow, the thought that he knew those things left her feeling uncomfortably exposed.

"I didn't steal them," she mumbled, embarrassed. "I'll give them back."

"No," he said, fiercely. "You won't." He caught her gaze again. "They're yours. Just like that." He pointed at her hand, where she was wearing his ring. He let out a breath before adding, "Just like me."

_Yours._

The words took her breath away, and she struggled to put the pieces together in her mind.

"What is going on?" she demanded, suddenly furious. "How are you alive?"

His voice was flat. "I can't tell you that."

"Why?"

He squirmed, seemingly agitated by her question.

"Because we've already had this conversation," he explained through gritted teeth. "And you told me exactly what I told you. If I want to make sure you find me after this, I can't tell you anything you didn't already know."

She folded under the weight of his words. What he was saying…it didn't make any sense.

"This is the first time I've seen you since you died," she said, slowly. _This you, anyway._ "How could I have told you anything? This has never happened before."

"Yes," he argued, "it has. Look around you, Sara, don't you get it?"

"Time is falling apart here," she said, slowly. "So? What am I not getting?"

"It's our _fault_ ," he said, voice cracking. "Time is breaking here because of _us_ – you and me. We've had this conversation over and over. Who knows how many times? I swore that this would be the last. If it isn't, there's no guarantee the timeline will be stable enough for me to survive."

"What are you talking about?" she asked, heart racing. Were she and Leonard the reason her team had been drawn here? Was she to blame for the instability at this moment?

"Alternate timelines," he said, sighing. "I don't understand, really. But that doesn't matter. All that matters, is that you go to Central City on April 16, 2016, and visit Cisco Ramon at S.T.A.R. Labs. That's it, Sara."

But that wasn't it – that wasn't it at all. There was so much more to it than that, she could tell. His earlier words echoed through her mind, and she shivered at the thought of what he'd said, about how he was hers…about his ring. _You're still wearing it_. As if she was still wearing it, in his time, in the future.

"When are you from?" she asked. Suddenly, it seemed very important that she know.

"I can't tell you that either."

She groaned. "Where are you, then? I mean, the you from my time?"

"Lost," he said, distantly. "Dead, some would say. But if everything goes the same way it did before," he took a breath, "you're going to figure out how to find me. You're going to figure out how to bring me back."

"How? How could I do that?" she asked, desperately.

He just shrugged. "Can't tell you."

She growled, frustration growing with each question he refused to answer. "What _can_ you tell me?"

"Have you ever heard of Schrodinger's Cat?" he asked, in answer.

She breathed out through her teeth, trying to reign in her temper. " _Remind_ me."

"There's a cat in a box with a flask of poison," he said, so readily that it felt like he was reciting the words from memory. "The poison will be released after an unknown amount of time. When it is, the cat will die. But until then, the cat's alive. And so, the theory is...the cat is both, alive _and_ dead, until someone opens the box to find out."

She closed her eyes against a flare of anger. "How is this relevant?"

" _I'm_ the cat in the box," he said, and her eyes flew open in shock. " _You_ have to lift the lid."

She paused, letting the meaning of his words sink in.

"And...if I do...will I find you alive?" she asked, hesitantly.

"I certainly hope so," he said.

"But maybe not?"

"Maybe not."

She sucked in a sharp breath. Did that mean that this future, where he was from…where she had his ring and he was hers…wasn't guaranteed? Her heart sank even as her pulse quickened, and she gripped at his shirt – as if her hold could keep him here, with her.

"Snart," she said, gulping at the taste of his name on her lips. "Just tell me what the _hell_ is going on!"

"I _can't_!" he yelled, equally forceful. "If I say anything I didn't last time, if I change anything about this conversation, I could _blink_ out of existence – _any moment_."

Something in his words triggered a darkness inside her. She laughed, hollowly.

"Oh, so _now_ you care about existing?" she asked, bitterly. "That's rich, considering you didn't seem to give a damn when you threw your life away."

It was unfair and she knew it – he hadn't given his life for nothing. He'd saved them all; saved the whole world…saved time itself. But what did that matter when she missed him so much that it had threatened to destroy her?

His mouth dropped, and for the first time he seemed surprised by what she'd said.

"You…you think I wanted to miss _this_?"

He gestured between them, and her stomach dropped as his eyes narrowed. Suddenly, he kicked her foot out and spun her around, shoving her against the wall. The force of it took her breath away, and in her surprise, he grabbed her wrists, pulling her arms up and pinning her hands above her head. He leaned down toward her, and she shivered at the hard look on his face.

"No," he growled, answering his own question. "No. I'm not done with you."

He stared at her, and a crack of thunder shook the building so violently she thought the whole thing might collapse around them. Another flash of lightning lit up the space, and for a moment it was as if his eyes were glowing, bright and blue, boring down into her very soul with unearthly light. There was something wrong about it, something off she couldn't place…still, she hung onto the sight of his eyes like they were all that kept her tethered to the earth.

And then the light was gone, and he was kissing her, and her lips were parting easily against his.

There was nothing, nothing but him as every fear fell away, replaced by a burning need to make this real, to make it true. To bring him back.

_I'm not done with you either_ , she thought, sighing at the heat of his mouth on hers.

Dimly, she was aware of another flash of blue, lighting the backs of her eyelids. Then her stomach lurched and she swore the whole room flipped upside down, and she was caught in the twisting gravity, weightless and floating. Her hair was hanging above her, his hood had fallen up and over them, and it was wrong, it was wrong – but it was _so, damn right._

He deepened the kiss, and she gasped as her feet lifted onto her toes. Only Leonard held her in place, keeping her from falling up and away as his hands clutched tightly at her wrists, and his body pressed hard against hers. A boom of thunder echoed all around them, and they were spinning, or the room was, or time itself – she wasn't sure. None of it mattered. All that mattered was him.

_If you're alive, I'll find you,_ she swore, giving in, losing herself in that moment and making a whole life in it, because he was here and she was with him and she could have him, finally, _finally_.

And it was so much better than she'd ever dreamed, even with the madness around them, the desperation, the urgency, the fierceness with which he took her in – it was the perfect stolen kiss, she realized. And she felt stolen, herself, body and heart.

She'd lost all sense of time and space when he pulled back, just slightly, and the world righted itself at last. She fell back onto her feet with a thud, struggling to focus on his eyes through her dizzy haze.

"This time," he said, panting, "that's not goodbye. That's a _promise_."

He rested his cheek against hers, and she leaned into him.

"Leonard, I…"

Slowly, he tilted his face back toward hers, eyes heavy-lidded and dark. His lips hovered over her mouth, hesitating as if he were fighting to keep from kissing her again. She reached forward, as much as she could with her arms still pinned above her head, making the decision for him as she brushed her lips against his. He groaned, and the floor began to tilt beneath them again.

A faint beeping noise from his watch startled them both, and he drew back with a shuddering breath.

" _Shit_ ," he cursed, eyes glancing to hers before shifting away. He released her wrists, taking a step back from her. "That's our cue," he sighed.

That was when the warehouse lights kicked on with a sudden whine.

"What was that?" she asked, blinking against the painful brightness.

"We're not alone," he said, darkly, then grabbed her by the shoulders. "Cisco Ramon," he repeated, fiercely. "Tell him if he helps you, I'll give him Lisa's number." He rolled his eyes at that, before returning his stare to her. "Central City. S.T.A.R. Labs. April 16, 2016. Got it?"

All she could do was nod.

"Good. Let's get out of here."

"Wait," she said, grabbing at his coat. "No one is going to believe that I've seen you. You need to come back to the Waverider with me and tell the others."

"I can't," he shook his head. "Don't worry. They won't believe you, but Mick and Ray will be on your side anyway. April 16, 2016 – that's the day. You tell them that, okay? _That_ is the day."

She nodded again, mind spinning. "But –" she started.

"Unless you want to be here when that bomb detonates," he said, cutting her off, "we need to go."

He took off at a run, not waiting to see if she'd follow. Dazed, it took her a moment to get her feet started, and once she did, he was already several paces away.

"Come on!" he yelled, glancing back over his shoulder at her.

There was something like regret on his face, she thought, like maybe he wished he could say more, or wished he could stay... Or maybe, he knew something she didn't...

He passed through the open doorway and into the night, just as Sara felt an ominous rumbling echo through the warehouse floors. Her eyes widened – this place really was going to blow, she realized. She quickened her stride, but it was too little, too late and –

One moment she was reaching a foot through the doorway, and the next she was catapulting through the air, heat and smoke and bright light at her back, propelling her forward. She was ready to roll out of the fall the moment she left the ground, but –

The angle was all wrong, the world had turned upside down, kept turning, kept lurching, and the gravel of the street below yawned up to meet her before she could get reacquainted with her balance. She fell with a smack, rolling from the force of impact. She came to a rest on her back, dirt and rocks and grit stinging as they stuck to her hands and face.

There was no sound; the ground was swaying so violently that her eyes could barely keep track. She let her pounding head fall to the side, blessed darkness creeping into the corners of her vision and blocking out the pain. The last thing she saw were the laces of two black combat boots slowly approaching her face, stopping mere inches before her. Thoughts of their owner – _alive or dead? –_ chased her into the abyss.

* * *

"Sara. _Sara_ , wake up."

She came to with a start, the sound of Mick's gravelly voice jarring her awake. It seemed just moments had passed since the explosion, but as her eyes darted around she realized the warehouse wasn't even in sight, and dawn light was creeping over the horizon. She was tucked into the alcove of a doorway, it was – the abandoned house, maybe 200 feet from where the Waverider was waiting, cloaked.

The understanding hit her all at once, and she felt a flare of anger rise to her chest. He'd _known_ , she realized, he'd known she was going to get knocked out. He must have brought her here, dumped her, left – but –

"Sara, what _happened_?" Mick asked. "That warehouse you were checking went up like a firecracker – we thought that you went up with it, that you were –"

"Mick." She grabbed his face, holding it between her hands. "Mick," she repeated, seriously, breathless, "Leonard's alive. He's alive, Mick. He's alive, I saw him. He was there. At the warehouse. He saved me. He – he told me we have to find him, he told me, 'Central City, S.T.A.R. Labs, Cisco Ramon – April –'"

"Slow down." Mick's gaze was both baffled and pitying. "Stop," he said. "You've hit your head real bad, and you don't know what you're saying."

"I know what I'm saying!" she cried. "Leonard is alive, Mick. We have to find him."

"If you saw him, then why do we still need to find him?" Mick asked. Now he was being gentle, but it just came across as goddamn condescending.

"He was from the future," she explained, exasperated. "We have to find _our_ Leonard," she said, desperately. "We have to save him."

"Sara, there's no saving him. He went out with the Oculus."

"No!" She growled, willing him to understand. "I'm telling you, he was there at the warehouse, he's out there somewhere. All we have to do is go to Central City in 2016 and see Cisco Ramon –"

"Seriously?" he interrupted. "You think _that_ egghead is going to help us? Of all people? He hates us. No, Sara, listen, you need to see Gideon, now."

"No, you listen!" She shoved him off her, pushing herself up on shaky feet, using the wall behind her as support. "Leonard is out there and we're going to find him. We owe him that."

She brushed by Mick and fell into a run to the Waverider. Her mind was racing, heart pounding. She had to make them believe her, but if they wouldn't, she'd take matters into her own hands.

She reached the bridge at a sprint. "Gideon!" she called. "Set a course for Central City, April 16, 2016."

Rip came rushing in behind her, confusion twisting his features as he stared at her in shock.

"Sara, what's going on?"

She ignored him, struggling to keep her hands from shaking as she tapped on the control panel, doing a manual search of the date Leonard had given her.

"Sara!" Rip yelled, putting a hand to her shoulder and tugging at her, trying to get her to look at him.

"Leonard's alive and we're going to find him," she explained, shrugging out of his grasp as she pulled up the coordinates.

"Sara," Rip said, gently this time, "Mr. Snart died in the Oculus explosion."

She glanced at him, just long enough to see the pity in his eyes. It was enough to make her want to smack him.

"You're wrong," she spat. "Gideon, 2016!"

"We can't leave the Atom and Firestorm," Rip argued, "they're still outside, looking for you!"

She couldn't bring herself to care. Not when Leonard was out there, somewhere, somehow, and she could find him. Not when the answer was at her fingertips, and she could get there. She couldn't wait for the others to understand – clearly, that was a losing battle. She jabbed in the codes for a manual override, fingers flying over the keyboard. She was so close, so _close –_

"No!"

She blinked at a flash of white light, blinding her as it encompassed her vision. Then she lost herself to the darkness.

* * *

Sara woke in the medbay, groggy and heavy as she pulled herself to consciousness. She peered around, blearily, noticing Mick sitting beside her.

"Did I have to be sedated?" she asked, her annoyance breaking through the drug-induced haze.

"Yes," Mick said, dryly. "You tried to maroon half our team."

"Wouldn't have been as bad as being stuck in 1958 for two years," she said smartly, shifting up in the patient's chair.

"Or being captured by the Time Masters, tortured and brainwashed for millennia," he retorted. "But it doesn't make it right."

"Mick," she pleaded, "he's out there. We have to find him."

"Ray, Stein and the kid were out there looking for _you_ ," he scolded, gruffly. "We thought you were dead. _Dead,_ Sara. And then you almost hijacked the ship – you would have deserted us. Give me one reason we should do anything you say."

"Because it's _him_ ," she said, vehemently. "Because he'd do the same for us. What's the harm in looking?"

He leaned back, considering her. "It's going to hurt a thousand times worse to lose him all over again, Blondie. It's a fool's errand you want to take and I can't support that."

"You think I don't know how much it would hurt to lose him again?" she demanded, glaring at him. "I saw him tonight," she swore. "I spoke to him. He _knew_ things, he knew things he couldn't know. He came from the future to make sure we save him. How could you deny me the chance that it's true?"

He was silent at her words, maybe remembering that she'd already had to say goodbye to him more than once. She'd survived that. _I'll survive this, too_. She hoped he could see that in her eyes.

"We have to try," she whispered.

Just then, their heads turned at the sound of clanging footsteps echoing through the hall. Ray appeared in the doorway, still in the Atom suit, his helmet dangling by a hand. He was covered in dirt and grime, and looked a little worse for wear (maybe even worse than her), she thought, as he entered the room.

"Thank God you're alright," he sighed, striding to her bedside. "What happened?" he asked, "Rip said –"

"I saw Leonard," she confirmed, and Mick rolled his eyes. "It's true," she added, fiercely. "I don't know how, or why he was there tonight, but he was. He was waiting for me in that warehouse. He told me he was from the future, and he wanted to make sure that I went to S.T.A.R. Labs in Central City to see Cisco Ramon. He said if I did that, I'd be able to find out what happened to _our_ Leonard, and save him."

Ray stared at her, a crinkle forming in his forehead as he took in her words. "He was from the future?" he asked.

"Yeah," she nodded. "He said that it was our fault – his and mine – that time is unstable here. Something about alternate timelines…that we've had the same conversation over and over. He was trying to make it right, I think."

Mick and Ray exchanged a glance, Mick's expression grim and Ray's wondering.

"Well," Ray started, slowly, "then…let's go."

"What?" Mick asked, gruff voice dripping in disbelief.

"Why not?" Ray shrugged. "If there's any chance we can save him, we should do it. That's what he would've done, if it was one of us."

"See?" Sara said, raising her eyebrows at Mick.

Mick ignored her, turning to Ray. "Do you really believe it?" he asked.

"Sara has suffered a head injury," Ray allowed, "but from what she's saying…it sounds possible. We've certainly experienced crazier things."

"How else can you explain how I got back to the Waverider? You think I walked away from that explosion?" Sara demanded, staring Mick down. "He said that no one would believe me. He _also_ said that you two," she pointed at them, "would be on my side anyway. So, what's it going to be? Are you on my side?"

Mick's expression darkened for a moment as he took in the fierce set of her fists, and the determination in her eyes. He grunted. "It's not a good idea," he warned.

"But you'll help me?" she prodded.

"Yeah," he sighed, standing. "Hunter's not going to like it, though."

Sara smirked. "When has Hunter ever liked anything we want to do?"

Mick rolled his eyes at that. "You two, go take a shower," he ordered, scowling at them. "You could both use one. I'll go deal with the captain. Meet me at the jump ship when you're ready."

Sara went through the motions of showering and changing, tense anticipation building in her stomach with every moment that passed. They were going to find him, she told herself. They had to. She tried to block out the nagging reminder of what Leonard had said – that even if she went down this road, she might _not_ find him alive. That wouldn't stop her from trying.

She met Ray in the hallway, and he nodded at her as they made their way to the bridge.

"Thank you," she said, softly. She tried to find more words for the warm affection she felt for him in that moment, but she came up short.

He seemed to know, though. He took her hand, squeezing it lightly before releasing her. "Leonard gave his life for us. And, besides, I'd give my life for you or any other member of our team. We're with you, absolutely."

"Absolutely not!"

The sound of Rip's angry voice welcomed them before they could even enter the room.

"I'm sorry, but I can't allow it," he added, as they walked onto the bridge.

They were met with the sight of Rip and Mick staring each other down, seemingly in competition for deepest glower as they glared at one another.

"What's the problem with us taking the jump ship to our own time?" Sara asked, as she and Ray approached the control table.

"April 16, 2016 is a CTJ," Rip snapped, as if that was supposed to mean something to them.

"Critical Time Juncture," Mick supplied, raising his eyebrows at them. "A place and time so vital to the timeline, even Time Masters are forbidden from interfering with it, except in the most extreme emergencies." He sighed. "Basically, it's off limits."

"I think this qualifies as an 'extreme emergency,'" Sara argued. "Someone's life is at stake."

"No," Rip said, sharply. "This does not qualify. The timeline is so fragile at that moment, even the slightest interference could unravel all of history."

"I don't understand," Sara said. "We interfere and make changes all the time." _Well, we screw things up all the time, anyway._ "Why is this moment any different?"

"It is _critical_ to the timeline!" Rip cried, as if that should be explanation enough. "And you want to go in and disrupt _Team Flash_? They are in the middle of saving the multiverse from a homicidal megalomaniac with super speed. You think it wise to mess with that?"

"If you thought you could get Miranda and Jonas back, wouldn't you?" Sara asked, narrowing her eyes.

"This is not the same as that!" Rip insisted "Of course we all miss Mr. Snart, but –"

"It _is_ the same," Mick countered, voice threatening. "Snart gave his life for your personal crusade. For your family. He's _our_ family."

Rip jaw dropped as he regarded Mick, Sara and Ray in turn. Sara met his gaze, crossing her arms.

"Can't you visit them at a different time?" Rip pleaded. He tapped at the screen of the control table, considering the numbers listed there. "February 6, for example. That's a far more stable date."

"No," Sara said, firmly. "Leonard was very specific about April 16. That's the day."

Rip sighed, tugging at his hair as he paced back and forth in front of them. "Look, even if I could allow you to go there – which I can't – Barry Allen created multiple alternate timelines relatively near to that date. There's no guarantee you'd even land in the timeline that Mr. Snart meant you to. It's a doomed mission – even _if_ there were any possibility that Sara _did_ see Mr. Snart this evening, which, given her state, is far-fetched at best, unfortunately –"

"Sorry, Rip," Ray said, as the captain passed him.

"What?" Rip asked, stopping short.

That was when Ray punched him, uppercut hard and fast to his face. Rip's eyes fluttered back as he fell, landing in an unceremonious, unmoving heap on the floor.

"Gideon, prep the jump ship," Ray ordered, pleasantly, as he stepped over Rip.

"Of course, Dr. Palmer," Gideon replied.

"You're telling me Rip didn't take any precautions against this sort of thing?" Sara asked, eyebrows raised as she inspected the captain. She had to hand it to Pretty Boy; Rip was out cold.

"Oh, he did," Ray said, lightly. "Against you two. Not me, though. That was his mistake!"

Mick stared at him for a moment, shocked. Then he laughed, hard and deep, clapping Ray on the shoulder. "You're alright, you know that, Haircut?"

Ray grinned as he led them out of the room, only to stop abruptly as he realized Stein and Jax were hovering in the doorway.

"Hey guys," Ray said, cautiously. "We're going to visit the gang at S.T.A.R. Labs. Wanna come?"

"We heard," Jax said, wryly.

"One crisis at a time," Stein suggested. "You three go to 2016, and we'll stay here so Captain Hunter knows we didn't all mutiny."

"Frankly, I'm surprised we made it this long without a mutiny," Sara said, flippantly.

Stein raised his eyebrows. "Good point." He shook his head, then shrugged. "Best of luck. Say hello to Team Flash for us, will you?"

They said their goodbyes to Jax and Stein, then made their way quickly down the hall to the jump ship.

"Rip said we might not land in the right timeline," Sara remembered, as they strapped in. "What did he mean?"

"The autopilot is set to take us to whatever timeline is the most probable now," Mick explained, tapping at the dashboard. "But, we can adjust the settings. And fortunately for us, I'm pretty handy with timeline probability factors," he added.

"What timeline are you sending us to?" Ray asked.

"The original one," Mick replied. "Don't want anything to do with the bullshit the Flash got the world into. Now," he turned back to them. "You ready?"

"How will we know if we've made it to the right timeline?" Sara asked.

"Probably, we won't know," Mick shrugged. "But a little gamble has never stopped us before." He pushed forward the lever, and the jump ship sprang to life. "Just like rolling the dice," he sighed. "And here we go."

Sara's heart raced. They were really doing this. They were going to find Leonard. And they were going to save him.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another extra-long chapter, hopefully it makes up for the wait! Thanks very much to everyone who's been following this since the beginning, or just finding this for the first time. All the feedback and encouragement really means a lot to me! And as always, thanks to ClaudiaRain for all her support and thoughtful comments. I would not have made it through this chapter without her!

**Central City – April 16, 2016**

There were few places Mick Rory hated more than S.T.A.R. Labs. He had more positive associations with prison, even – better company. He'd thought about robbing the place, sure. Maybe he'd find a nice upgrade for his heat gun. But going to the speedster for help? Without any intention of double crossing him?

Well, he'd had finer moments.

"Are you sure we're going the right way?" Sara asked for the dozenth time, peering suspiciously up at Palmer. "Seems like we've been walking in circles."

"These curving hallways are more confusing than I remembered," Ray admitted. "But I'm sure we're going the right way now. Probably."

"Is this even the right part of the building?" Sara pressed. "This doesn't feel like it's heading to a laboratory."

Mick grunted in agreement, letting his eyes wander around the sloping hall as he trailed behind Ray and Sara. The whole place had a dark, industrial feel to it – throw in a few cells and he'd almost feel a bit at home.

"This is it," Ray confirmed. "In its heyday, some of the world's most phenomenal technological advances came out of these labs. Now, it's the home of Team Flash."

"More like Team Pains in My Ass," Mick muttered.

"Including Cisco Ramon," Sara said, ignoring him. She turned to Ray. "How do you think he's supposed to help us save Leonard?"

"Probably his meta-human powers," Ray said vaguely, frowning down at his phone. "Apparently answering calls isn't one of them. You should've let me try sooner," he complained to Sara. "Maybe he would've called back by now."

"Leonard was very specific about meeting Cisco here, at S.T.A.R. Labs," Sara reminded him. "We couldn't have risked meeting him before we got here. Not that I know why," she added with a sigh. "Leonard covered the who, what, where…he didn't mention anything about _why_ though…"

Mick frowned at the back of Sara's blonde head as he followed her and Ray around another corner. Their bickering was drowned out by the dark thoughts that sprang to his mind at the mention of Leonard's name.

_What am I doing here, Boss?_

His chest ached. There was no helping Snart now, even if those do gooders agreed to try for the likes of him. Mick had no delusions about the kind of man he was. Miscreant. Liar. Murderer. Rogue.

And now here he was, crawling into the den of his enemies, big bunch of stinkin' _heroes_ , to beg for what, their condolences?

His jaw ticked as he watched Haircut chattering more at Sara than to her. His normally bright eyes were strained at the corners with the effort of feigning cheerfulness. Sara was alert and focused, but she was too pale, whiter than the jacket she was wearing – the same one she'd taken on her mission to the nineties.

Looking at her, he wondered again if this fool's errand would be worth the cost. Not that he doubted Sara could pay it. This was the assassin who had clawed her way from the grips of death, the woman who had dragged his massive body from destruction. He had a feeling there was no load she couldn't bear, no tragedy she couldn't survive and rise from, stronger than ever.

But he'd seen the look on her face when Jax dumped out those pictures of her and kid Snart in the nineties. Like she'd missed a step and fallen, kept on falling. It had taken something from her. Something she didn't have much of left to lose, after the Oculus, after her sister.

So yeah, when she found out there would be no way to bring Snart back, she'd survive it. But would she ever be the same? And would his old partner have wanted him to let her do this?

She glanced back at him. By the fierce look in her eyes, he knew he couldn't stop her anyway. So at least he'd be there when it all went to hell, as usual.

And in the bottom of his miserable excuse for a heart, he knew _that_ was the real reason he was here. Mick Rory was no stinkin' hero. No. But he was loyal. Sara was under his protection now, and he would protect her from whatever he could.

"Is that music?" asked Sara, as they wound their way around another curve.

Ray's shoulders slumped in relief. "Oh yeah," he agreed, tilting his head to listen. "Hey, I think we're here!"

"You sound surprised," Mick noted.

Sara's eyes narrowed in agreement, but Palmer just waved them off, moving purposefully toward the natural light peeking out from an opening ahead.

As they approached, the faint notes of music grew louder, and Mick picked up the brass croon of some old-fashioned jazz. Ray raised his eyebrows at them and smiled faintly as they stepped into a large, open room.

Mick wasn't sure where to look, between the monitors flashing at them from every corner, the red suit that seemed to watch them from its glass case, and the man to their right – the only other person in the room. With his back turned to them, he seemed oblivious to their presence as he tinkered with a small, metal object and hummed along with the music.

Mick turned to Sara, about to tell her that Ramon wasn't here, but stopped short at the surprised look on her face. With her eyebrows raised, a little crinkle in her forehead, and her mouth hanging open, she looked almost helpless – not an expression he was used to seeing on Sara Lance. He followed her gaze to a TV monitor next to the man.

His stomach dropped.

The image on the screen had changed in that short moment since they'd walked in the room. He couldn't say what it had been before.

Now, it was showing _Leonard Snart_.

Mick rubbed at his face, sure the image would disappear when he looked again. It didn't. He stared at the screen, watching as Snart's lips moved silently, his voice muted. His steel eyes stared back, unfeeling, not seeing him.

"What the...?!"

Mick jerked his head toward the sound of a familiar male voice – Cisco Ramon himself had appeared unnoticed in the corridor. He was carrying a drink tray full of coffees in one hand and pointing at Mick with the other – by his open-mouthed gaping and wide-eyed stare, Mick guessed he was the last person the nerd had expected to see here.

"'Lo, Ramon," the man with the gadgets called, so distracted he didn't even glance up from his work. "Don't be alarmed," he added, scratching the back of his head with a screw driver and then pointing it vaguely toward the monitor. "That's just Earth-2 TV."

 _Earth…two?_ Mick frowned as he drew his attention back to the screen, back to the image of his old partner. Snart wasn't dressed like himself. He was wearing a black suit and tie – the kind of fancy clothes he'd only wear when he was pulling a job. His fingers wrapped around the edges of the podium before him, and Mick had to look away again.

Meanwhile, the man moved around his table of devices, picking up this and that as he explained: "While we were on my Earth, I grabbed the recording of all the important news alerts and updates my tracking system collected in my absence." He sighed. "I was hoping there might be some clues about Zoom's movements that could help us. Nothing so far, unfortunately."

His rambling trailed off as he turned to glance at the monitor and the headline flashing across the bottom of the screen:

_MAYOR SNART ADDRESSES CENTRAL CITY: UPDATES ON ZOOM._

"Mayor...Snart?" Ramon asked weakly. His attention had turned away from Mick, and now he too was staring, transfixed, at the screen.

"Oh yes, Mayor Snart," the man agreed absently, turning back to his work. "A lot of mixed opinions about him. Most people like his fiancée, though."

He paused, and just then the camera panned wide as TV-Snart turned to look behind him. A blonde woman in a black dress stepped forward and came to stand beside him, wrapping an arm around his.

_Sara._

There was no mistaking her, with her bright blue eyes and dimpled chin. She looked up at Leonard, giving him that secret little smile Mick had only ever seen her direct at his old partner. Snart's mouth curved up in response, looking down at her with his trademark smile-smirk. It was such a familiar exchange that it physically hurt Mick to see it.

TV-Snart gestured to Sara as he spoke, referencing her as the text at the bottom of the screen changed:

_SNART: WE WILL FACE THIS CITY'S DEMONS_

Mick turned his attention to the real Sara as she stared at her double. His Sara was not smiling. She looked lost. His fists curled as he considered hurling something – or someone – into the screen.

"She's certainly improved the mayor's approval ratings among young male voters," the man continued, still oblivious to his company. "What's interesting is –"

"What is that?" Sara spoke finally, her voice low and dangerous.

"Wha –?" The man spun around, his glasses nearly falling off his face as his eyes darted between the TV-Sara and the Sara standing in the flesh before him. "Oh, for God's sake," he huffed, rolling his eyes as he snatched up a remote and pointed it at the monitor, shutting it off. But Mick could still see the faint outline of his partner's face, lingering there even after the screen turned dark.

The man put his hands on his hips, glaring daggers at Ramon. "Do you people know everyone important on my Earth?" he asked. "Why didn't you tell me we had company?"

Cisco balked. "I didn't know!" He frowned at each of them in turn, setting his coffees down and crossing his arms. "I didn't let them in."

"Palmer got the lock," Mick inserted. "Made it look like child's play."

"I had a great teacher," Ray said, modestly, grinning at Mick.

The man tipped his head back and stared at the ceiling, sighing dramatically. "Ramon, how many times do we have to talk about beefing up security? Really, it's like literally anyone could walk right through the front door. On my Earth –"

"Why do you keep saying that, 'on my Earth'?" Sara demanded, interrupting the exchange. "What is happening here? How could I be on your TV? That's never happened. How is Leonard..." she faltered, growing more frustrated. "What kind of timeline did we land in?"

"It has nothing to do with the timeline," the man gestured angrily toward the now-black monitor. "That was news from another Earth, another dimension. A parallel universe. Make no mistake: that was not you. That was another woman, with a different life." He stopped, tilting his head as he considered Sara. "I'm sorry, did you say that you 'landed' in this timeline? Who are you people?"

"Wait," Ray interrupted. "Dr. Wells?" He stared more closely at the man, eyes widening. He turned to Cisco. "But I thought he…?"

"Died?" Ramon supplied, shrugging. "Yeah, but that guy was an imposter."

"So, this is the real Harrison Wells? Not the psycho who wanted to kill Barry?"

"Uh, yeah, he's just from a different Earth. No big deal."

"That is…amazing!" In typical Haircut fashion, his enthusiasm took over as his words spilled out. "Dr. Wells, you are sort of a personal hero of mine, I have so many questions –"

"Is that what you came here for?" Wells asked, dryly.

"Uh, no," Ray stopped short, glancing at Sara. "You're right. Actually…"

"We came here for your help," Sara said, stepping forward. Her eyes moved to Ramon. "Are you…?"

"Cisco," another voice cut over Sara as a woman entered the room, staring down at a phone. It was the red-headed scientist, the hot one – not that Mick could remember her name. "Did you know you left your phone downstairs?" she continued. "Also, you have fourteen missed calls from Ray Palmer. Why –"

"Uh, hey Caitlin," Ray said, drawing her attention up.

She froze, taking in the scene before her and zeroing in on Mick. "Heatwave," she squeaked.

"You can call me anything you want, sweetheart," Mick said. He thought it might cut the tension a little – but by the way her eyes narrowed, it may have backfired.

"Can someone please tell me what's going on here?" Ramon cut in before things could get…heated.

"Are you Cisco Ramon?" Sara asked.

"Uh, yeah," he said, hesitantly. "And you are?"

"Sara Lance," she said quickly. "I need your help."

"The White Canary," Ramon said, a little reverently. "I'm sorry, but, uh, Barry isn't here right now. He's out with the Wests today."

"Barry?"

"The Flash," Ray supplied.

"Ray! Don't give up Barry's secret identity in front of _Heatwave_ ," Caitlin hissed.

"He's a friend now," Ray said. "Didn't Oliver tell you?"

"We're not here for the Flash," Sara said. "Cisco, we need _you_."

"Me?" Ramon pointed at himself, surprised.

"Everyone back up a beat," Wells interrupted. "I still don't understand who you people are."

"We're time travelers," Sara said, growing more desperate.

Ray put a hand on her shoulder. "Why don't I explain?"

* * *

Haircut did a pretty good job going over the highlights of their story from the time Rip recruited them, besides getting a little stuck on the whole Kendra thing. ("Wait, you dated her too?" Cisco asked. "Maybe we should start a support group," Ray suggested.)

Mick had to turn away when he got to the part about the Oculus.

"So, Heatwave knocked you out to save your life, and then Captain Cold knocked out Heatwave to take his place?" Cisco asked, voice laced with disbelief.

"That about sums it up," Ray agreed, "but you can call him 'Mick' you know, he's standing right there."

Mick just grunted, avoiding Ramon's curious eyes.

"And, Captain Cold –"

"Leonard," Sara corrected, narrowing her eyes.

"Leon…ard…" Cisco amended, slowly, like he'd swallowed something bad. "Blew up the…"

"Oculus," Ray supplied.

"Which was a device that…controlled time?" Cisco asked.

"Basically, yes. The Time Masters used it to manipulate time. We had to destroy it so we could finally stop Savage and save the world," Ray explained.

"So, what you're saying is that Captain Cold saved the world," Caitlin cut in, speaking for the first time since Ray's story began. "That's…unbelievable."

"Believe it," Ray said. "He changed a lot on our mission." Ray looked between Sara and Mick. "We all did."

"Alight, this all sounds very touching," Wells said, sarcastically. "But it still doesn't explain why you're all here, interrupting our work day."

"It's Saturday," Caitlin deadpanned.

"Every day is a work day," Wells argued. "We happen to be trying to save the world ourselves over here. And not just this world, either."

"We're here because we think Cisco can help us save Leonard," Sara said.

Ramon frowned at her. "I thought you said he…sacrificed himself?"

"He did," Sara agreed, grimly. "We all thought he was dead. Until…" She glanced warily at Ray and Mick. "He came from the future to tell me we could save him. With _your_ help."

Ramon sighed. "This is all very confusing. Ignoring the fact that we thought we already killed Savage –"

"Don't feel bad," Mick inserted. "We had to kill him three more times for it to stick. I got to light him on fire. Very satisfying."

"Okay," Ramon said, clearly at a loss. He turned back to Ray. "You're all from the future. And Captain Cold, who died, in the future, came from further in the future to tell you to ask me for help saving him?"

Ray pointed at Wells. "You're telling us he's from a parallel universe. Why is time travel so hard to believe?"

"Oh, trust me, we believe in time travel," Ramon said. "Just trying to wrap my head around the situation."

"I think you've got it," Sara said. "So, can you help us?"

"Help you save Captain Cold, the man who kidnapped me and tortured my brother?" Ramon asked, like it was a cruel joke.

"Don't forget, he kidnapped me too," Caitlin reminded them. "And he terrorized Barry _and_ this city."

Wells looked taken aback. "He kidnapped _you_?" he asked Caitlin.

"What, it bothers you that Caitlin was kidnapped, but not me?" Cisco said, offended.

"I can understand how someone could justify kidnapping you, Ramon," Wells retorted. "Only a monster would hurt Caitlin Snow."

Caitlin gave Mick a pointed look, and it triggered something in him. He didn't even think, he just spoke:

"I'm sorry."

Caitlin blinked. "Excuse me?"

"I said, I'm sorry." Mick's shoulders tensed. He focused on slowly relaxing them, ignoring the uneasy churning in his stomach. "We hurt you. We used you. You have no reason to help us. You probably can't, anyway. But for what it's worth…" he trailed off, already regretting speaking.

He wasn't sure where the words came from. Until he said them, he didn't know he meant them. But he looked at Sara, and thought of the image of Snart on the TV. And he knew it was worth admitting, even if it didn't change anything.

"I think that was the strangest thing we've heard so far," Ramon said, staring at Mick sideways. Then he sighed, turning his attention back to Sara. "Look, I don't know what I can do for you."

Sara crossed her arms and squared her shoulders, the resolute look on her face saying she wasn't giving up that easily. "If it helps," she started, taking a deep breath, "he said he would give you Lisa's number if you saved him."

For a moment, everyone was silent as Ramon stared at Sara, eyes practically bulging out of his head.

Then Mick threw his head back and laughed, rubbing a hand over his face. He couldn't believe Snart would ever agree to hand over Lisa's number to this nimrod. But then, he could almost hear Snart making the offer, and for the first time he really believed Sara had spoken to him. That they stood a chance.

"Cisco, is there anything you care to share with the group?" Caitlin asked lightly, mouth curving up a knowing smile. Wells just rolled his eyes, but even Ray cracked a grin at the exchange.

"Okay, for the record, I don't need to be bribed to help my mortal enemy," Ramon said, sending a glare at Caitlin. "I really don't know what I can do," he reiterated. "But, if one of you has something of his…maybe we can find out."

Sara marched up to him, pulling Snart's ring off her hand and offering it to him. "Will this work?"

Ramon's eyebrows shot up as he looked from the ring to Sara's face and back again. "That was…his?" The implication of Sara wearing Snart's ring seemed to be a little much for him.

She nodded, and if she registered Ramon's surprise, she ignored it.

"I have powers that let me get impressions…vibes…of people from their things," Ramon explained, nodding at the ring. "But if he's dead, I won't see anything."

"If you couldn't help, we wouldn't be here," said Sara. Mick wondered how much she was forcing herself to believe that. He wondered how much longer he could keep himself from believing it.

"Okay," Ramon agreed, hesitantly. He took a deep breath and steeled himself, his eyes taking on a determined focus. Slowly, he reached out and touched the ring.

Mick wasn't sure anything was happening, but Ramon's eyes lost their focus, turning glazed over and faraway. His mouth fell open, as if he weren't quite present in his own body.

They waited, staring at Ramon and holding their collective breath. And then, after only a few moments, his eyes widened and he sucked in a deep breath, coming back to himself with a shudder. He put a hand to his chest, eyes darting around the room as if still seeing something they couldn't.

"Wait..." Mick said, "that's it?"

"What did you expect?" Caitlin asked.

"I dunno...sparks?"

Ramon glared at him as he caught his breath.

"What did you see?" Sara asked, urgently.

"I saw him…" Ramon said, eyes taking on that faraway look again as he remembered. "It was weird, though. Like he was there, but he wasn't. And then he was everywhere. And nowhere. It was like he was covered in static, or he _was_ static – the whole image was just…scattered. And I couldn't see anything around him, just…green. A lot of green. If that means anything to you guys."

"The timestream."

Everyone turned to look at Mick. He shrugged. "You said a lot of green? That sounds like the timestream," he explained.

"Yeah," Ray agreed, "it does. Is it possible that Leonard is in the timestream itself?"

"What's the timestream?" Caitlin asked. "Do you mean the Speed Force?"

Mick didn't even pretend to follow any of the geeky science talk as Ray explained the timestream and the nerd squad tossed around theories. He was too busy coming to terms with the fact that his partner was out there, somehow. That he'd _been_ out there, all this time.

Sara glanced over her shoulder at him, face softer than he'd seen it in a long time. She smiled, and he managed a nod back, trying not to let hope get the better of him.

"Wait," Caitlin said, drawing Mick's attention back to the conversation. "How did Leonard visit Sara from the future anyway if he's trapped in the timestream right now? And why did he need to tell her to come here if he was already rescued?"

"Hypertime," Wells said, as if that explained everything.

"What is… _hypertime_?" Sara asked.

"It's a theoretical construct we have on my earth," he said. "You're a time traveler. Perhaps you've noticed that time isn't exactly…linear."

"Well," she said. "If we change something in the past, it changes the future. Usually."

"Yes, and maybe you can remind Barry Allen about that," he muttered. "But! Here's the rub. Time is not linear."

He walked to the center of the room, dragging a clear, rolling board with him and pulling out a marker.

"Time is like a river," he said, drawing a line, "with an infinite number of distributaries branching off. These are alternate timelines. Or splinter timelines, as some scientists call them on my earth." He drew new lines coming out of the first, and pointed at them.

"Anytime your team has attempted to make a change to the timeline, what you've really done is created a new branch, an alternate timeline." He capped his pen, then tapped the board with it.

"This is giving me the strangest feeling of déjà vu," Caitlin whispered.

"Somewhere, Barry's ears are ringing," Ramon agreed.

"You see," Wells continued, "both timelines still exist – the scenario where you didn't interfere, along with the one where you did. Mostly, timelines carry on separately. But sometimes, the branches return and feed into one another."

He uncapped the pen, drawing a spiral from one branch leading back into the original line.

"Tell me," he said, pointing the pen at Sara. "What did your Leonard Snart say to you, besides instructing you to come here and upend our day?"

"He said that he couldn't really say anything else. He said we'd had the same conversation over and over, and he was going to make sure it was the last time."

"Hmm..." He turned back to the board, tapping the pen on his hand for a moment. "What would you have done if he'd been surprised to see you? If he hadn't purposely sought you out, but rather, the meeting had been an accident? If he'd told you to pretend it never happened?"

"She would've done anything she needed to figure out how he got there in the first place," Mick said, answering before she could. "And she would've done anything to get him back." Sara shrugged, gave a little nod.

"Just as I thought," Wells murmured. "Look." He glanced at the group, then back at the board, drawing as he spoke. "Two alternate timelines collide. Let's call this Timeline 'A'. Hypothetically, there was a timeline where your Snart had already been extracted from the timestream, somehow. He runs into Sara, in her own timeline, which sends her on a mission to save him herself. Let's say she was successful."

He erased the line connecting the two timelines, drew a new line in its place. "This would create a new timeline, where Snart was recovered in a different way and at a different time than in Timeline A."

"Wouldn't it cause a paradox, too?" Ramon asked. "If things happen differently, and he doesn't end up in the same situation that let Sara know he could be saved in the first place…"

"He doesn't get saved," Caitlin finished.

"Correct," Wells agreed. He drew a spiral looping from the end of the timeline and back into itself. "It would create a loop. Snart would go back to make sure Sara saves him. But, if he changed anything about the _way_ Sara saves him, it would create another alternate timeline. Another loop."

He drew several new spirals, each originating from the same point. "It sounds like you started a cosmic game of telephone with yourself," he said to Sara. "Each time the scenario plays out, he tells you what you told him that he told you…" He tilted his head. "And really, we're all part of the loop, too, if he told you to come here. Who knows how many versions of this conversation exist."

"Maybe you shouldn't blame Barry for the déjà vu," Ray said.

Sara took a deep breath. "Okay," she said, "how do we keep things from looping on themselves?"

"You'll have to make sure that everything happens the same way it did to bring your Snart back into existence. Any changes you make will just result in a new alternate timeline."

"But we don't know exactly how it happened."

"There has to be a reason Leonard didn't tell Sara more about his rescue," Ray said. "Maybe we need to just figure it out ourselves, without interference, to allow things to unfold naturally."

"And that puts us back at square one," Ramon sighed. "How to save Captain Cold, when we don't know exactly where he is or how he's existing after that explosion."

"Maybe…" Wells started, rubbing his chin. "No, that couldn't be. But…"

"What is it, Harry?" Caitlin asked.

"Well, a man stands at the epicenter of a 'time' 'explosion'," he said, using air quotes, "in a place that exists outside of time, outside of all laws of physics as we know them…"

"Uh huh, what are you thinking?"

"I mean, hypothetically speaking – and mind you this is way beyond any possible theorizing we could realistically do – but, perhaps, rather than being scattered to space, his particles have remained in some kind of, of, loose conglomeration."

He paced back and forth, thinking. "And, perhaps," he continued, "if his consciousness were still present – if, that is, a consciousness can be broken down at the molecular level to become part of this...package, so to speak, well... I'd imagine it would only be a matter of reversing the process – of bringing all the particles back in together, and then pfft. Bada bing, bada boom, you'll have a fantastic, reassembled man."

"You think we can, what...reverse explode him?" Mick asked. "In a...reverse explosion?"

"Scientifically, no, not at all like that. But in layman's terms, sure, yeah, 'reverse explosion.' Let's go with that," Wells said. "Granted, that's a gross oversimplification of what will actually be required to pull a feat like this off. And that's hinging on the big 'if' my hunch is correct."

"What Harry's trying to say is that we'll do everything we can to help you," Caitlin said.

"So, we can save him?" Sara asked.

"My guess is, the longer he's out there, the more likely it is that his particles will split and be dragged into different times, different worlds even," Wells said. "It would be impossible to recapture him after that."

"But it hasn't happened yet?" she pressed.

"If a future version of him visited you, and Ramon can vibe him, I would guess not."

"So, we can save him," Sara repeated, this time with conviction.

"We're going to try," Ramon said. "You know, it reminds me a little of when we separated Ronnie and Professor Stein. Ray –"

"I think we should take this conversation to the Waverider," Mick pointed out, cutting him off.

"Oh yeah," Ray agreed. "This day is critical to the timeline. We don't want to interrupt your normal routine any longer than possible. If we figure this out on the Waverider, we can return you to this moment, so you can live out the rest of the day as you would have."

"Wait," Ramon asked, huge grin spreading over his face. "Are you saying we're going on a time machine?"

"Yup," Ray agreed. "It's pretty sweet."

"You and Harry go, I'll stay here in case anything goes wrong," Caitlin offered.

"Yes, hold down the fort, Snow," Wells said. "If we never come back, just tell Allen we couldn't put up with him anymore," he added with a wink. She gave him an exasperated smile.

"When we come back, will my coffee still be hot?" Ramon asked, practically bubbling over with glee as they headed for the exit.

"That's how time travel is supposed to work," Sara agreed.

"Supposed to?"

"Don't ask."

The walk back to the jump ship was longer than Mick would've liked. Fortunately, S.T.A.R. Labs was near the outskirts of the city, but they'd still had to park away from the building to keep it out of the way. It hadn't seemed so far on the trip there, but now that he had so many thoughts buzzing around his head – _Boss, you're alive_ – and he had to put up with Ramon, to boot…

They couldn't get back to the Waverider fast enough.

"I understand how you feel," Ramon said to Sara as they walked. "About Captain Cold," he clarified. Mick rolled his eyes.

"What do you mean?" Sara asked, warily.

"I kind of…have a…thing…with his sister, Lisa."

"Kind of figured, since he offered her number as a bargaining chip and all."

Ray snorted, badly holding back a laugh.

"So, what…are you two dating or something?" Sara asked, ignoring him.

"You could say we have a…smoldering back-and-forth…" said Ramon.

Sara laughed out loud, really and properly for the first time in Mick couldn't remember how long.

"What?" Ramon asked, defensively. "You and Captain Cold are 'together,' then?"

Sara shrugged, but she couldn't hide her lingering grin. "I guess you could say…we have a 'smoldering back-and-forth,'" she admitted, faint blush teasing her cheeks as she said it.

Ramon smirked. "See? I get you."

"It was mostly eye sex, from what I saw," Mick added.

Ray was aghast at the comment. "They're in love!" He eyed Mick reproachfully. "You missed a lot while you were Chronos."

But Mick didn't miss Ray's use of the present tense. He didn't correct him. Neither did Sara, he noted. She averted her eyes though, a wistful expression twisting her pretty features. She quickened her pace, catching up to Wells and saying something to him that Mick couldn't hear.

"Hmm..." Cisco mused, once Sara was out of earshot. "Captain Canary… Yeah. I like it."

"What?" Mick asked.

"Captain Canary," Cisco repeated, with more conviction. "Their couple name. Sara and Snart. Captain Cold plus White Canary, Captain Canary."

Mick grunted. "Why'd you call Snart 'Captain' Cold anyway? 'Captain Canary' makes it sound like Blondie's with Rip. Gross."

"Well what would you call them?" Ramon challenged.

"How 'bout... Cold Canary. Yeah, that feels more like them."

Ramon scoffed. "'Cold Canary'? That sounds like a dead bird!" He rolled his eyes. "Real romantic. This is why people need to leave naming things up to me. Also," he added, looking up at Mick, "who's Rip?"

"Once you find out, you'll wish you hadn't," Mick warned.

"Uhhh," Cisco gave Mick a look.

"Oh do me next, I want one!" Ray chimed in. "If I were with Leonard, our couple name would be Cold Atom, how awesome does that sound? Or oh! Mick, we'd be Atomic Heat! Cisco – Atomic Vibe? Eh, eh?"

Ramon frowned. "There's an innuendo in there that's making me feel really uncomfortable."

The ride back to the Waverider was uneventful, besides Ramon's constant stream of excited chatter about the future tech. When they arrived, Hunter was waiting for them, glowering, but otherwise leaning silently against the wall in front of the door to the jump ship.

"I'm guessing you're Rip, huh?" Ramon asked. He stared at the purple bruise forming around Rip's eye. "You know, I'm just not going to ask."

"Why don't we find Professor Stein?" Ray suggested quickly, avoiding Rip's eyes and whisking Wells and Ramon away. Sara disappeared down the opposite corridor without a word. Mick let her go. She hadn't rested since…everything. She needed a little quiet.

Mick, on the other hand, felt too jumpy, too full of pent up energy. He needed action. Unfortunately, he hadn't been drafted to the nerd squad, and there was nothing he could do.

Rip coughed, reminding him that he wasn't alone.

"I have a feeling we're all about to do something very stupid," Rip said at last, eyeing him warily.

Mick chuckled, clapping Rip on the back. "That's what we do best," he said. It gave him an idea. If he couldn't _do_ anything, well… "Let's toast to it," he said. "I have some good whiskey in my room."

" _My_ good whiskey," Rip pointed out.

"And I'm good enough to share it," Mick agreed, as they moved down the hall.

_We're coming, boss._

* * *

That night, Sara lay awake in her bunk, trying and failing to calm her spinning thoughts.

 _He's alive,_ she told herself. _We'll find him_. She thought of all the smartest people she knew, working together to figure out how.

So why did she still feel so anxious?

She tossed and turned as images and memories flitted before her eyes, snatches of moments she couldn't keep, but couldn't discard, either.

She was back in 1996, watching Len's soft face come into view as he approached her in the bank. She was held prisoner by his eyes. _Where do you belong?_

She was at the Oculus, making that split-second decision to leave, heart breaking as she pulled away from him.

She was in that warehouse, feeling her stomach lurch as the world turned upside down, and lightning flashed, and he kissed her.

She was in S.T.A.R Labs, watching Mick's gruff face split in wonder as he realized they could get Leonard back.

And then suddenly she remembered another time, a memory she had pushed down and almost forgotten, sworn she'd forgotten. The last time she'd gotten Leonard back, after believing him gone.

It was after she'd returned to the Waverider from the 50's, from those two years she'd spent back in the League. She'd laid awake that night in her bunk, so much like she was now, crawling out of her skin wondering how she could go back to her old friends after so long.

In that moment, she'd felt more human than she had since before she'd died, and yet somehow, more detached from her humanity than ever.

She'd found herself at his door.

"Don't you ever knock?" he'd asked, like he knew it was her without even bothering to look. She had to remind herself that only a day had passed for him. She was still familiar to him. For her, he was both familiar and not, like a place she'd called home once, long ago.

"Assassins don't knock, crook," she'd said, hesitating in the doorway. Her voice, so seldom used in the League, felt raw in her throat, foreign to her own ears.

The room was dark, only the faint light from a data panel casting a soft glow on his still form, lying with his face to the wall. She took a step in, and he turned to look at her finally, a soft smile breaking through the shadows.

"Glad to know some things never change," he said.

"I missed you."

She surprised herself when the words came out of her mouth. Surprised herself even more to realize they were true, that they were all she'd come there to say.

She should've asked him about Mick – Chronos. About what _he_ was going through. Some of it was plain to see in the set of his jaw, in the hard lines of his body: the defeat, the loss. But there was some relief there too, and hope. She would ask him about it eventually – and maybe he would talk to her.

For now, selfishly, all she could think about was what _she_ had lost. What she had found again. How much she'd missed him, in the back of her heart, when she'd thought she'd never see him again.

"I'm sure anyone would miss me, after being stuck with Kendra and Raymond," he replied, teasingly. "I have every sympathy."

She ignored the joke, slowly approaching his bedside.

"Turns out, I am still a killer," she said.

She came closer, close enough to see his eyes shining in the half-light.

"You're a survivor," he corrected. "You did what you had to do to survive. To feel like you belonged somewhere."

She knelt beside him, bringing her face level with his. She'd never forget how hypnotized she'd been by the sight of him, this man she'd believed dead. _He's not just a man,_ she'd reminded herself. _He was my friend. Still is my friend... Maybe._

"Two years, huh?" he mused. She nodded, distantly, her eyes still tracing every line of his body, like she could convince herself he was really there by burning the image of him into the backs of her eyes.

"How's it feel to be back?" he asked, eventually. She dragged her eyes back to his.

"Like I was frozen solid," she said, her voice hushed. "And now I'm thawing out."

"We have some experience with that," he reminded her, corner of his mouth twitching.

"I felt _nothing,_ " she whispered. "For two years, I let go of every emotion, pushed it all away. And now…" she faltered. "It hurts."

She dragged her fingers across her scalp and through her hair, hand shaking. Then she felt Leonard's sharp eyes studying her, understanding too much. She dropped her hand to her side. _You are Ta-er al Sahfer,_ she told herself. _You are stronger than this._

"But, Gideon says the time drift will fade soon," she backtracked. "I'll be fine."

"I've never dealt much with _feelings_ myself," he said, averting his eyes. "But." He raised his eyebrows. "You can set the armor down now, Sara. You don't need it here. You know that, right?"

His gaze turned back to her, and her skin heated as she felt herself melt beneath it.

"This morning I was a servant of Ra's al Guhl," she argued. "I accepted that role as all my life would ever be. Tonight, I'm in a time machine, talking to a man I thought I'd never see again."

He smirked. "Never say never when it comes to me, Lance."

"I don't know how I'm ever going to fit on this team again," she insisted. "I almost killed Kendra today."

"And I almost killed Mick."

She paused. "I knew you didn't."

"I know," he agreed. "You were the only one."

The silence that followed rang with implications that she'd been too tired to consider, and too messed up to act upon.

Finally, he tilted his head, sighed, and spoke again. "My point is," he started, eyes on his lap. "We're all a bunch of misfits anyway. That's what makes us all fit. Including you."

She'd swallowed the lump in her throat and tried to believe him. It was too much then, too much to think she could be accepted back with open arms, after she'd let the monster inside consume her, beat it, and became it again.

"Careful Leonard, your nice guy is showing," she'd said eventually, finding safe harbor in a familiar jibe.

He'd scoffed at that, a wicked grin taking over his face. "I'm just saying, you said you missed me," he needled her. "Well," he drawled. "I'm right here. Want to test out my new hand?" He shook it at her, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. "I did miss celebrating two of your birthdays. Are you over 30 now?"

She'd rolled her eyes then, made to leave – when he'd grabbed her by the arm. "Wait," he'd said, his voice suddenly serious, his fingers hot on her skin. "Stay. You don't have to thaw out alone."

When she'd hesitated, he'd tugged her down. "It's late, and you're already here," he'd said. "You may as well stay."

So she had.

She'd set her knees tentatively on the bed as he'd moved aside, making room for her. She'd crouched down first, hands brushing the sheets, feeling half-mad and half-ready to leave.

"Stay," he repeated, pulling her the rest of the way down. She unfolded herself, watching his face for any sign of doubt. She found none.

"I might forget where I am and accidentally kill you in your sleep," she warned him, as they lay facing each other.

"I like to live dangerously," he said, mouth twitching.

"I'm serious," she chided.

"Promise?"

"Leonard…"

His lips curved up in a smile, and despite her annoyance, she was grateful too. Grateful that he was still here, alive. Grateful that he looked at her without fear. Grateful that he accepted her and all her demons.

They'd never shared a bed before. They hadn't since. She still couldn't say why he'd asked her to stay then, except that maybe he didn't want to be alone in the darkness. She didn't, either.

In that quiet space, she stared at him and he stared back, eyes black moons in the night sky. Even with his back to the wall, there were only inches between them. Her fingers stretched toward him, blindly seeking his warmth. Then her hand closed, crept back to her body. She wasn't ready to cross that distance. Not for him. Not for anyone.

But.

 _Maybe one day_ , she thought. If the world ever stopped rushing in her ears, if the monster inside ever quieted…

Her eyes felt too heavy for those thoughts. She waited until his eyes closed, and he fell asleep. So easily, like he trusted her. Like it was that simple. She knew she didn't deserve that – she didn't deserve to feel…normal. But the gentle rhythm of his breathing soothed her, steady reminder that she was not alone, and it wasn't long before she followed him down.

She'd woken with a start, disoriented and too warm. For a moment, she'd thought she was back in her room at the League, except that it smelled like…a _man_.

Her eyes shot open.

"Good morning," he'd purred.

She'd found herself staring into his blue eyes, so bright in the ship's artificial morning light. Somehow, they'd found each other in sleep. Their legs were tangled together, their stomachs touching, and she'd lost an arm somewhere beneath him.

Of course, she was holding a knife to his throat with her free arm.

"Why do you look so smug?" she asked, furious at herself for letting him get this close.

"You said you'd kill me in my sleep," he reminded her. "I think I've died and gone to heaven. Never expected to end up there, but…"

"You know, you don't have to be asleep for me to kill you."

"I know," he agreed. "That's what I like about you."

He had a free hand too – resting securely on her hip. Awfully daring for a man with a knife at his throat, she thought. In fact, he didn't seem at all worried by the situation. He was calm, content even. His hand slid under her shirt, stroking her back.

"Snart," she growled. "What are you doing with your hand?"

"I thought you'd have a knife stashed under here," he said, smoothly. "But you're not wearing anything at all."

As if to punctuate the point, he let his fingers drift up her back, delicately making their way up to her neck. And she did not shiver, no. It was just a muscle spasm, damn him. He smirked.

Well, two could play at that game. She arched her back, rocking into his hips until he groaned. Then she was the one smirking.

"I'll be wearing your blood in a moment if you don't move it," she said.

He released her, throwing his hand up by his head like he was under arrest. She snorted, finally dropping the knife to her side. She meant to roll away from him then. She meant to get up, walk away, and pretend this never happened.

But she hesitated. She stayed in his arms, looking up into his eyes.

Suddenly, it was too much. He was too close. And then, he wasn't close enough at all. She wanted to… She wanted.

"Can we do this every morning?" he asked, breaking the spell. She was grateful.

"You'll be lucky if I let you see another morning," she'd snapped, rolling away, up and off the bed and half way across the room in a heartbeat, before she could do something truly stupid.

But he'd sent her one last look before she left the room, and she couldn't help the pleased flutter she'd felt in her stomach. It was the first time she'd felt something in a long time that she hadn't hated. Not entirely, anyway.

The memory melted around her, and Sara opened her eyes, alone again in her own room.

 _Never say never when it comes to me, Lance._ _  
_

She'd taken his words for the joke he'd meant them to be. Now, they echoed in her memory like a promise, and she wanted so badly to believe them.

Soon, she'd find out whether they were true.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Okay guys, I can't believe it, but this chapter marks the end of Part 2 of this story! You probably can't believe it either, because I've never mentioned Part 3 before (mostly for fear I wouldn't make it to this point, haha), but yes, there will be a Part 3, and I'm so excited for it. Hopefully you will be too at the end of this! In the meantime, thanks so much for all the truly wonderful and thoughtful feedback you left me on the last chapter, it really meant so much to me. I love to hear all your thoughts! A few of you mentioned really liking the memory scene from the last chapter (when Sara returned from the 50's) and wanting more of those kind of missing moments. Yesterday, I posted a separate, missing moment one-shot from season 1. If you haven't seen it yet, it's called "White Lies," and in my mind, it takes place in this same BTM universe (although reading it that way isn't required), so you might want to check it out.
> 
> Special thanks to ClaudiaRain and Crazygirlne for reading this chapter over for me! I hope you all enjoy it.

 

It was too much waiting.

Sara had never been a particularly patient person, even under the best of circumstances. She knew that Ray, Wells, Cisco and Stein (essentially, the Dream Team) were working day and night, doing everything they could to figure out the riddle of how to bring Leonard back. But with so much on the line, she was too full of anxiety, her blood buzzing under her skin, hot with the need to do _something_. What little patience she did have ran out by the first night.

She tried to occupy herself. She tried to cope.

She and Mick sparred. They drank. They sparred while drinking, which turned out to be a worse idea than even they'd thought. Gideon was none too pleased when they turned up in the med bay, Mick spewing curses that the AI didn't even have in her dictionary, bleeding everywhere from falling wrong on something sharp. Sara still wasn't sure what, though she suspected a loose knife was to blame. Somehow, the onboard liquor supply seemed much lower after that.

Eventually, as one day turned to two and then to three, even Mick grew annoyed at Sara's restlessness. He threw his hands up at another lost poker game, and disappeared to find some solace in his own way.

Sara went to the training room, back to sparring on her own, hoping to drown out her thoughts in the exercise. But with every kick, with every punch, Leonard's voice echoed through her head:

 _I'm the cat in the box_ , he'd said. Like Schrodinger's Cat, both alive and dead until... _You have to lift the lid,_ he'd told her.

 _And if I do,_ she'd asked, _will I find you alive?_

_I certainly hope so._

_But maybe not?_

_Maybe not._

She hadn't told anyone about that part of their conversation. She didn't want anyone thinking that this plan might not work, that everything they were doing might be for nothing. And truthfully, she didn't want to consider the possibility that there could be a timeline where she didn't find him. That she could be existing in that timeline now.

But all she could do was consider it.

Hit. Punch. Kick. _If we don't find him…_ Jab. Kick. Punch. _If we can't save him…_ The pressure of it weighed on her, so heavy she couldn't breathe.

 _Maybe not,_ the dummy whispered, _maybe not._

She punched its face off.

It must have been well into the evening on the third night when she heard footsteps approaching down the hallway.

She was a little light-headed, from working out for so long and probably from skipping dinner, too. "Mick!" she called, panting as she gave the training dummy one last kick. "I'm about done, but you can have the room. Maybe later, I – oh."

She stopped short as she saw Ray enter.

"Sorry," he said. "Just me."

Her heart leapt into her throat as she fumbled for words. "Is it…" she started, swallowing. "Are you guys done? Do you…are you ready?"

Ray dipped his head, walking further into the room. "Not quite," he admitted. "We're getting close though. As close as we can, anyway, but I think the device we're making could really work."

"Oh," she repeated, whoosh of air leaving her chest as she tried to hide her disappointment. "What brings you down here, then?"

"It's starting to feel like we've got too many cooks in the kitchen, you know?" He gave her a small smile. "So, I'm taking a little break. I wanted to check up on you, see how you're doing."

"Why would you think I needed checking up on?" Sara asked coolly, frowning as she dried off with a towel. She turned away then, afraid her face would give away too much. "I'm fine. It just sucks, waiting."

"Sara," he said, gently, taking another step toward her. "It's okay if you need him." His voice was quiet, and she froze at his words. "It's okay to let yourself need _someone_ , anyone," he continued. "It doesn't make you weak."

"Ray," she countered, voice low. "He died." She took a shallow, shaky breath, steeling herself. "He's still dead," she reminded him. She'd been reminding herself of that for days. "If this doesn't work, we might never get him back and I..."

Her voice faltered _. Can't let the hope destroy me._

"We're going to get Leonard back, Sara, we are," Ray said, taking her by the arm and turning her to face him. "We have to," he insisted. "Look at me." He waited until she reluctantly met his eyes. "We're going to get him back."

She looked down, shaking her head slightly. She didn't know why, but she had to make him understand.

"When I came back from the dead," she started, eyes on the floor, voice distant, "there was nothing waiting for me in life. Don't get me wrong, I love my family but... I went to hell and back. I literally lost my soul. But when I came back, I realized there was no one I needed to go back to."

"And now?"

"Now..." she paused, squeezing the towel in her hand. "I'm not afraid of dying," she told him. "I'm not afraid of anything. Except..." She trailed off, grappling for the words. "Except for what happens if this doesn't work," she managed, finally. "If we fail."

_If I never get him back. If I lose him all over again._

Ray nodded, considering her words.

"I died once too, you know. Technically," he said. "The whole world still thinks I'm dead," he added, softly. "When I came back and realized that no one needed me – that everyone was getting on just fine without me around?" He gave Sara a rueful smile. "Besides being incredibly humbling, it made me look at my life choices."

He took a few steps around the room, gathering his thoughts.

"Snart made a lot of mistakes," he said, after a moment. "I mean, a _lot_ of mistakes. But –"

" _Leonard_ made a lot of mistakes?" she interrupted, scoffing. "I don't think you want to compare your list with his, Ray."

He sent her a look, but didn't deny it. "You know I meant mistakes as in…morally," Ray clarified. And, well, she couldn't argue with him too much there. "My point is, for all he did wrong, he got a few things right."

"Like?" she couldn't help asking.

Ray stopped pacing and looked at her then, a fierce kind of certainty in his eyes. She saw the answer there. _You_.

"The world isn't the same without him," he finally continued. "Not for us. And _when_ we get him back?" He paused, pointing at her. "You make sure you let him know."

Sara hummed, considering his words. "The world wouldn't be the same without you either, Ray. You know that, right?"

"We'll see," he sighed, shrugging. "I think I'm still sort of trying to justify my existence." He crossed his arms, shifting uncomfortably. "I thought that night at the Oculus was _it,_ " he said."I thought it was my destiny, my purpose for being. No one would've missed me." He shook his head a little, affirming it to himself. "It was kind of a relief, you know? Until Mick knocked me out, of course. And now, here I am, with this huge burden of...life."

Sara closed the distance between them, placing a comforting hand on his arm.

"That's the thing about second chances," she said. "You have to make them count."

That was true for her, too, she realized. And for a second, she lifted the lid on her feelings, just a peek. For a second, she let herself think about what she would do if she got her second chance with Leonard. She felt that familiar longing curled up in her chest, squeezing at her heart until she thought it would burst.

 _It's okay if you need him,_ Ray had said. But it wasn't okay. It wasn't okay at all.

Ray must have seen the dark cloud that passed over her face at the thought. "Sara, don't worry," he said. "We're going to figure this out." Then he paused, considering her. "There's something I want to show you."

* * *

Sara followed Ray through the ship, past the crew's quarters and down a side-passage she didn't think she'd ever seen before.

"Remember when I said that I knew Leonard was in love with you, because of the way he looked at you, and a few things Mick said?" Ray asked. She nodded. It wasn't a pleasant memory. "Well," he continued, "that wasn't entirely true."

Sara frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Leonard actually told me a few things himself. Sort of. It's hard to explain. Really, it's better if I just show you."

He lifted his hand to a scanner and led her through an unfamiliar doorway.

"Where are we?"

Sara looked around, taking in the small space. It wasn't much – just a work station off to one side, and a chair quartered off in a tiny alcove.

"You really don't remember this room?" asked Ray.

"Should I?" She peered dubiously around the corner of the alcove. The lone chair was seated in front of a small desk with a keyboard and a blank screen.

"It was on our very first tour of the ship," Ray reminded her. "It's for recording video logs of our journey. Gideon recommended it for our mental health – we're all supposed to regularly log our thoughts and feelings about what's happening."

"Oh yeah," Sara mused, dismissively. "That sounds vaguely familiar. So?"

"Leonard recorded a few logs. And I think you should see them."

Sara's eyebrows darted up in surprise.

"Seriously?" she asked. "I find that hard to believe."

"Well, I think I annoyed him into doing it the first time," Ray admitted. "And then, I don't know, maybe he found it therapeutic. I record logs most days, so I ended up running into him while he was in here a couple of times. I may have overheard a thing or two…just watch, alright?"

"Oh, so you spied on him?"

"Shh," Ray ignored her comment, guiding her to sit in the chair as he stood behind her. "Just watch," he repeated, reaching around to fiddle with the keyboard and calling up the correct file.

Suddenly, the blank screen flickered to life. Leonard appeared before her eyes, sitting just where she was now.

"Personal log, Leonard Snart," he said, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Day one."

"Actually," Ray called from off-screen, "it's day twenty-one of our journey."

"Shut up, Palmer," Leonard snapped. "All logs start on day one."

"But that would be lying," Ray protested.

"You act as if that would bother me." Leonard rolled his eyes, shaking his head. "Fine. Day _twenty_ -one." He placed his head on his fist, thinking. "What can I say? We're trapped in limbo another day. I'm being crushed under the weight of Palmer's obnoxious idiocy."

"Hey," Ray whined. Leonard smirked.

"Our captain is suicidal," he continued. "We've already lost a member of our 'team.'" He used heavy air quotes around the word.

"Carter," Ray reminded him.

"Who?" Leonard threw back.

"The team member we lost!"

"Whatever," Leonard muttered. "The most interesting thing that's happened lately," he continued, "is that Lance has gotten much better at cheating at cards. I suspect she's using this very ship to search the database for tips. Eventually, I'm going to have to tell her she's still doing it wrong, but I like winning too much for right now. Playing her has gotten a lot more fun, although I do miss her wearing tank tops..."

 _Well_ , Sara thought, unable to stop a small smile at the comment, _you need sleeves to hide anything up them._

"Wait. Are you into Sara?" Ray interjected, seemingly shocked. His body appeared behind Leonard, standing much like he was in the present day. "She's the scariest person I've ever met," he added. "You know she could kill you like a hundred ways without even thinking about it, right?"

Leonard shifted in his chair, craning his neck to look up at Ray. "That doesn't turn you on?" he asked, voice low. "Just me, then?"

Sara could tell by the mischievous glint in his eyes that he was joking. Mostly. Probably.

Ray, however, didn't seem too sure. He took a step back, like he was re-evaluating Leonard's sanity. "I'm just saying, I wouldn't mess around with her," he warned.

Leonard frowned, his eyes narrowing. "Who says I'm messing around?"

"Alright," Ray allowed, not missing the threat in Leonard's tone. "Then what do you want with Sara?"

Leonard paused, eyes growing distant as he considered. "For starters," he said, crossing his arms over his chest. "I'd settle for some good timing."

He gave the screen one last little smirk before the image cut out.

 _Timing_ , she wondered. It reminded her of long hours spent over cards, flirting and fighting and feeling each other out. It was true, most of the times they'd started to get close had been interrupted by one crisis or another. There never had seemed to be a good time, and then…

"Two hundred ways," Sara muttered, taking her mind off that line of thinking as she waited for Ray to call up the next video.

"Huh?"

"I could kill you _two_ hundred ways without even thinking about it," she clarified. "And don't you forget it."

Ray gulped.

The next video started, but the scene had changed – drastically.

The first thing that struck her was how quiet the recording was. There was no Ray fussing in the background. Leonard wasn't speaking, either. Gone was the humor, the confidence, even the boredom.

He was pushing his head into his hand, his skin pale, eyes wide and bloodshot. She'd never seen him look so defeated.

"Mick," he said, eventually, barely choking out the word. And immediately she knew when this video had been recorded.

"They all believe I killed him," he whispered. "All of them. Except…"

 _Except for me_ , Sara knew.

He took a shuddering breath, ran his fingers across his scalp. "That's something, at least."

It was so quiet, she could hear the whoosh of the door opening in the background, and Ray entered the room with a soft, "Hello?"

Leonard glared toward the door before dipping his head, running a hand over his face. When he looked up, the haunted expression was gone, replaced by his normal sardonic mask.

"Apparently," he said loudly, speaking up as though he'd never stopped, "while Lance and I were freezing to death, Palmer over here was having a very sweet time making out with the Hawk Girl."

Ray snorted, coming into view. "Hey, I risked my life to save you," he said. "Nice being alive, isn't it? You could at least thank me."

"'But Carter,'" Leonard whined, voice falsely high – a mocking imitation of Kendra. "'It's fate!'" He scoffed, then lowered his voice. "'We can make our own fate,'" he said, imitating Ray. "I'm sick of the soap opera," he added, in his own snarky voice. "How can I thank you when I can't even hear myself think?"

"Well worry about your own love life!" Ray complained.

Leonard lifted his eyebrows. "Excuse me?" he asked, half rising out of his seat, his voice slow and deadly.

"You heard me," Ray challenged. Sara was impressed at his bravado, despite the look on Leonard's face that said he wouldn't hesitate to kill him.

"I almost died; I got a kiss," Ray said, not backing down. "You and Sara almost died – what'd you get?"

Leonard sank back into his seat, his anger deflated. He sat in silence for a few moments, long enough that Ray walked out of the shot, and the room, by the sound of the door opening and closing behind him.

Leonard sighed. "The man has a point," he admitted, his mouth curving down in frustration.

For a while, he just started off into space, seeing something that they couldn't.

"He would have killed her," he said at last, so quietly she could barely make out the words. "He would have _killed_ her," he repeated, forcefully this time, growing more agitated by the moment. "He didn't even hesitate," he hissed, throwing his fist down on the desk. "I didn't have a choice!"

He buried his head in his hands, shoulders shaking as he fought to calm down.

"I didn't want to choose," he added, voice suddenly soft again. "He shouldn't have made me choose."

He leaned back, turning his face away from the camera, eyes downcast. "Because it's always going to be her," he said.

He lifted his eyes back up, and Sara felt like he was staring right at her.

"Always."

The picture cut out.

Ray fussed with the keyboard again, and Sara had to rub the goosebumps off her arms. Leonard had turned on Mick because he'd attacked her. She'd suspected it, but to hear him say it, to hear how upset he'd been at the idea of something happening to her…

The screen came back to life, with a new Leonard staring back. His face was covered in bruises, which had to mean –

"So, Mick is back," he said, gesturing to his face. "As you can see, we've had a chance to talk things out." He smirked, looking down for a moment before facing the camera again.

"Lance," he said, and her stomach clenched at the way he addressed her, like he was really there with her. "If you're watching this – which you shouldn't be," he added, with mock reproach, "but if you are – thank you. I'll say that to your face when you stop looking so damn smug about it."

She smiled, remembering the way she'd convinced the boys to hash it out. Their brawl hadn't been what she'd had in mind, but still.

"When are you going to pull your head out of your ass and just ask her out already?"

Leonard jumped a little at the sound of Ray's voice. This time, Ray must have snuck in while Leonard was speaking.

"Seriously Palmer, interrupting me again?" Leonard complained, glaring at him. "Do you live in here?"

"Avoiding the question, hm?" Ray retorted. "Oh, I get it, you're afraid she'll say no."

"That's not –"

"I mean, she probably will turn you down," Ray said, cutting Leonard off. "Honestly, it seems like she borderline hates you half the time – but at least put an end to all the pining."

Leonard rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. Sara suspected he was pouting. "It's a very thin line between love and hate," he said.

"Is it?" Ray pressed.

"Look, I'm playing a long game here, alright? You wouldn't understand."

"Long? Sara's going to be an old maid by the time you decide to grow a pair," Ray teased. "Or, she'll be _long_ settled down with a pretty nurse somewhere. Oh, and you'll be dead of old age. Who knows how many good years you have left?"

"Well, what do you suggest?" Leonard asked drily, casting Ray his darkest of looks.

"Maybe a complete personality reset?" Ray suggested.

"Shut up, Palmer."

"Just kidding," Ray laughed. "But really, I think – wait, let's turn this off first."

The image disappeared and Sara stared at the blank screen, wishing it would show her something else. But that was all.

"What did you tell him?" she asked Ray, after a moment.

"I told him that I asked Anna out every day for a month before she agreed to go on a date with me," he said. "Leonard called me pathetic. He also suggested that I was a stalker and deserved to serve jail time. Typical," he sighed. "But I told him you can't give up on someone you love. He did not disagree. And you shouldn't, either. Don't give up on him."

Sara looked down, nodding faintly. "I can't believe you got away with giving him such a hard time," she mused, needing to change the subject.

"Yeah, Leonard and I had a…let's say, 'special' kind of relationship," Ray admitted.

"I can see that," she teased.

"Don't be jealous."

All she could do was shake her head. "So, did you really ask Anna out every day for a month before she finally agreed to see you?"

"Uh, no," Ray admitted. "Actually, she asked me out. But that's not the point!"

Sara laughed, unable to help herself. The thought of Ray giving Leonard a pep talk with a fake inspirational story was a little too cute to imagine.

"Do you think he remembered meeting me that day, in 1996?" she asked. Seeing him in those videos, she had to wonder.

"I think he'd be crazy not to."

She rolled her eyes at the non-response, motioning for him to continue.

"I only saw you two together for a few minutes that day," he said. "But I know that he had his eyes on you the whole time. Except for when he was giving me his scary 'touch her and I'll murder you' look."

"His what?"

"It's the 'touch her and I'll torture you' plus the 'touch her and you die' looks combined," he explained. "There may have been a, uh, brief conversation about you between some of us a few weeks after we came on board. That was the first time he used it on us – he made it clear you were off-limits, or we'd have to go through him."

"I guess now I know why you all were falling over Kendra instead," Sara teased, shaking her head. _Boys._

"Well that, and the whole, you could murder us too, thing."

"Right," she agreed, sticking her tongue out at him.

"Dr. Palmer, Ms. Lance," Gideon's cool voice interrupted them from over the intercom, and Sara's stomach dropped. "The team is waiting for you on the bridge. They have something."

* * *

Sara couldn't get there fast enough.

She was speaking before she even fully entered the room: "What've you got?"

The boys were gathered around the control table, talking quietly. Well, Stein, Jax, Mick, Cisco and Wells, were, at least – Rip was conspicuously absent. The rest smiled as she approached.

"Ready?" Jax asked, holding up an oddly familiar vase. "Watch this," he instructed, before smashing it on the floor.

"Hey, that's my lucky vase!" Ray protested, too late.

"Raymond, you have at least five 'lucky vases' in storage," Stein reminded him. "They're just too convenient to use for testing purposes."

Ray was aghast. "You couldn't have had Gideon fabricate a test vase?" he pressed. "You know, one that doesn't belong to me?"

"Oh," Jax said, looking a little sheepish. "We didn't even think of that."

"Don't worry," Cisco interjected. "Just watch. Harry?"

Wells nodded, picking up a small device Sara hadn't noticed. He held it up for her to see, then pointed it at the vase, mouth curving up in something of a satisfied smile as he pressed a button.

The vase snapped back together before her eyes, so quickly that she almost didn't realize it was happening. One moment, the vase was in a thousand tiny pieces on the floor. The next, it was whole and solid.

"Patent pending," Wells said, exchanging a nod with Cisco.

"Wow," Sara murmured. "How…?"

"We used the quantum splicer that allows Jefferson and I to bond as our starting point," Stein jumped in, eager to explain. "I've been studying the processes that allow us to transfigure matter, and those notes helped us as well."

"A little Earth-2 know-how didn't hurt," Wells added. Jax nodded in emphatic agreement, clapping the older man on his back.

Cisco rolled his eyes. "Everyone needs to stop encouraging Harry, he's going to be unbearable when we get back to S.T.A.R. Labs."

"Didn't you say he was already unbearable?" Mick asked, helpfully.

"Yeah, but like, worse," Cisco clarified.

"What's the next step?" Sara interrupted, bringing their attention back to the task at hand. "We use this thing to…put Leonard back together?" she asked, gesturing to the little device Wells was still holding. "But we still don't even know where in the timestream he is."

"Actually," Cisco said, taking a few steps back to the control table and spreading his hands over the documents there. "I vibed your ship's maps of the Temporal Zone while I was touching Snart's cold gun." Sara glanced at Mick, who nodded in agreement. She was a little shocked that he'd let anyone touch it, especially Cisco. But desperate times…

"We've been traveling to the coordinates I found for the last three days," he added.

"And we arrived thirty minutes ago," Mick finished.

He leveled her with a knowing look, and she swallowed, letting the knowledge that they were _this_ close to Leonard sink in. She held Mick's gaze, feeling comforted that there was someone else here who needed to get him back as much as she did.

"Okay," she said, slowly, feeling suddenly overwhelmed that the time to rescue Leonard had finally come. "So, how do we get this out into the timestream to use it on…him?" She faltered, unable to say his name, too afraid she would somehow jinx all of this – or that she'd wake up and realize it had all been a dream.

"That's where I come in," Ray said, speaking up. "I've been making some adjustments to my Atom suit, and I think it'll be fit to wear into the timestream. I can take the device out, press the button, grab Snart, and we'll be back before you know it."

"That's where you're wrong, Dr. Palmer," Rip said, finally emerging from his study to join the group. He stormed down the steps, stopping before Ray with his hands on his hips. "You're grossly underestimating how dangerous it is to expose yourself to temporal radiation," he continued, a clip to his words that made Sara feel like he'd already given Ray this lecture before. "It's not like wearing your suit into space," he added. "And let's not forget, _that_ stunt almost got you killed, too."

"I think the suit can handle it," Ray insisted.

"Gideon?" Rip cut him off. "What did you say the odds of success were?"

"Odds of the Atom suit holding up under the pressure of the timestream are fairly good if the wearer can return to the ship in under ninety seconds," Gideon instantly replied, her cool, clinical tone washing over them. "I calculate the chance of success at around 83 percent under such circumstances."

Ray shrugged. "We've attempted much riskier feats under much worse odds," he pointed out.

"You don't understand," Rip pressed. He looked up at the ceiling. "Gideon, what are the odds that someone could get out to Mr. Snart, use the device, and be back in under ninety seconds?"

"According to my simulations, about one in ten," Gideon said, tone a little too cheerful for how much worse those odds seemed.

Rip lifted a hand to Ray, as if to say, _See?_

"It's enormously difficult to travel through the timestream without a ship," Rip continued. "Like space, there's no gravity out there, but the timestream is much denser. It would be like, like swimming through pudding," he said. "There's a reason there's no suit on board for this. Even if a Time Master needed to get outside his ship to make repairs, it's too dangerous _and_ nearly impossible to do in the timestream."

"He's right," Mick agreed, reluctantly. "The Time Masters showed me videos during my training to become Chronos. They used to try it, but, there were too many fatalities." He shook his head and sighed, then looked sharply at Ray. "Haircut," he said, "you can't do it. Too risky. Let me wear the suit and take the chance. He's my partner. He died to save _me_."

Ray shook his head, brows furrowing. "He died to save all of us," he argued. "Don't you think I'm willing to risk everything to bring him back?"

He paused, and Sara's heart swelled at the thought that Ray would really give his life just for the chance to save Leonard. "Besides, Mick," he continued, "the suit is too small for you."

"Too small?" Mick scoffed. "It doesn't adjust?"

"It's made of dwarf star alloy," Ray gave a long-suffering sigh. "No, it doesn't adjust. There would be too many breaks in the armor for you to be protected, even for ninety seconds. You can't go," he affirmed, like that settled it.

"I'm going," Sara said, her voice smaller than she meant. "I can wear the suit," she added, firmer that time.

"Sara, no," Ray protested, but she wouldn't have it.

"I'm the one who started this," she reminded them. "I'm the one he found in that warehouse. I'm the one he told to save him. I'm the one who left him at the Oculus and let him die in the first place. This is on me, and I'm going to be the one to fix it."

"You didn't have a choice," Ray said, voice straining with indignation. "What happened wasn't your fault. You know that, right?"

"I know," she said, even though she still didn't believe it. "That doesn't matter. This isn't a debate. I'm going, end of story."

"No, Ms. Lance, I can't allow that," Rip cut in. "I won't let you throw your life away for this."

Sara glared at him, but before she could speak, Harrison Wells stepped forward, arms crossed over his chest and a knowing look in his eyes.

"Oh, I get it now," Wells said, approaching Rip. "You have a crush on the Canary."

"What?" Rip turned on Wells, his voice low and dangerous.

"You heard me," Wells said, unperturbed. "Why else would you try to stop her? You seem to have no regard for these people otherwise."

"Who do you think you are?" Rip seethed.

"They told me about the others you've lost. At this rate the whole team will be dead soon, anyway. You may as well let her go."

Rip's eyes narrowed at Wells. "You don't know anything about me or this team."

"I know enough," Wells maintained, appraising Rip. "See, I've spent a little time with them the past few days, and I've heard your story." His voice dropped almost to a hush as he took a few steps closer. "You stole a time ship," he said. "You kidnapped and _lied_ to a whole group of people who you considered expendable, and maybe still do."

Rip tried to protest but Wells cut him off, staring him down. "You sucked them into your rogue mission, risking all their lives for your own crusade without a second thought. They were just a means to an end." He shook his head. "And when it came down to it, you willingly sacrificed another man's life for the chance that you might see your family again."

"Wow," Cisco said to Rip. "You're even worse than Harry."

Rip sent him a withering look, but otherwise remained silent.

"Now," Wells continued, "I understand you, Hunter." He nodded, slowly. "I, too, lied and put a man's life in danger – a great number of lives in danger – for the chance to save my daughter. So, trust me when I say that you have the opportunity to atone for your sins, and you should take it. Make things right."

"I don't want anyone else to die," Rip said, quietly.

"I think they've earned the right to decide what they're willing to die for, don't you?" Wells pointed out.

"Not on my watch," Rip argued, his mouth twisting into a snarl. "Not again," he vowed. "You're right," he admitted, eyes moving from Wells and meeting each of the rest of the team in turn. They stopped on Sara. "It's my fault Mr. Snart is dead. That burden is on me, and me alone. And I won't make that same mistake twice."

"Your guilt won't do them any good," Wells said, turning Rip's attention back to him. "All you can do is move forward and fix whatever you can."

Rip took a deep breath, seeming to come to an understanding with himself. "I'll take Dr. Palmer's suit into the timestream," he said.

"No," Sara insisted, and maybe it was the panic, or the desperation, but she had to laugh. "What do you all think you're accomplishing by trying to protect me? This is _my_ fight," she reminded them. "And besides, I have the best reflexes out of all of you. I'm the one who was trained to withstand brutal conditions. I'd have the best chance."

 _And if this doesn't work_ , she added, to herself, _I don't think I could survive being around to see it, anyway._

"Ms. Lance is correct," Gideon chimed in. "Based on her physique and training, her odds of a successful rescue attempt are slightly higher."

Rip put his hands on his hips and shook his head, staring off into the distance as he considered. Finally, he ran a hand over his face in exasperation, looking back at Sara warily.

"Ninety seconds," he said, pointing a stern finger at her. "Then we're pulling you back, with or without him."

 _Over my dead body,_ Sara thought, even as she agreed.

The team sprang into action, gathering the supplies they'd need. Ray left to grab his suit, Jax and Stein went to fetch some reinforced-steel tether they'd developed, and Cisco checked the device over one last time.

Once they were busy, Sara turned back to Wells. "Just to be clear," she said, voice low, "there is no timeline or universe where _that_ ," she gestured between herself and Rip, "would ever happen."

"I just call it like I see it," Wells said.

"Oh, come on," Rip rolled his eyes, like the idea was absurd. Which granted, it was, but she didn't want there to be any question.

She felt Mick step in behind her, and heard him growl. When she glanced up, she caught him glaring at Rip.

"Mick..." she warned.

"Just agreein' with you," he said, his tone equally warning, and luckily Ray returned with the suit before the situation could spiral from there.

* * *

"I don't like this," Ray muttered, later, getting her in the Atom suit. "It doesn't fit you right."

"All I have to do is drift in space for a minute and a half," she reminded him. "I don't exactly need to be mobile."

The ship was hovering about fifty yards from the location they'd identified with Leonard's particles. Any closer, and Wells was afraid the Waverider's shields – needed to protect the ship and crew from temporal radiation – would interfere and possibly scatter Leonard to who knew where and when. They'd ruled out using the suit's rockets for speed to get out to him, considering they would be too difficult to control and Sara could easily overshoot her target location.

So, she'd just be drifting, and hoping she could get there in time.

"Are you sure you don't want me to go?" Ray asked, for the dozenth time.

"Just tell me how to shoot this thing," she replied, ignoring him in favor of inspecting the many buttons on the suit's control panel.

"You shouldn't need to shoot anything in the timestream," he said.

"Just in case."

"I really don't think..."

"Okay, fine," she huffed. "I'll just start pressing buttons until I figure it out."

He rolled his eyes. "You're the one who said all you have to do is drift in space for a minute and a half."

In the end, he did show her how to shoot the thing, and he showed her the shrink button, too – if only to encourage her not to press it. By the time she found herself standing at the cargo bay door, she'd been versed in how to use the reverse-explosion device (as Mick called it), tethered to the ship by the reinforced steel that Stein and Jax had developed, and she was all too ready to jump out there and make it all happen.

 _Please, please let it work_.

But before she did, she looked around at the circle of teammates and new friends surrounding her.

"Thank you," she said. It didn't convey how grateful she was for this chance, for their support, but it was all she could manage.

"Repay us by not dying," Mick deadpanned.

"How'd you contribute the past three days?" Cisco asked him, sarcastically.

"I didn't crush you into a little pulp," Mick informed him. "Even though you asked for it many, many times."

"Guys," Sara chided. Then she took a deep breath. "Gideon," she asked, looking up. "You said there's an 83 percent chance of success if I return within ninety seconds. What're the odds the longer I'm out there?"

Rip gave her a warning look, knowing where that line of thinking was going and clearly disapproving.

"Once you've been out in the timestream for two minutes, odds of the Atom suit withstanding the temporal radiation drop to twenty percent. By two minutes and ten seconds, I calculate the odds at less than ten percent. Please do try to be back by then," she added.

"Aw, thanks Gideon," she said, a little touched at the AI's artificial concern. "But what about Leonard?" she added, as the thought occurred to her. "Once he's…back together. The Atom suit will protect me, but what about him?" _Assuming this thing works and there will be a "him" to bring back._

Stein placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "If Mr. Snart can survive being blasted by an explosion of temporal energy, and has existed in some form here in the timestream for this long, well, a few seconds more won't be what breaks him."

What he didn't add, but Sara heard anyway, was, _We hope_.

As if reading her thoughts, Stein gave her a small smile. "He'll be alright," he said. "Oh, and remember, Sara, you need to be in the center of Mr. Snart's energy field when you activate the device for it to have the best chance of working."

She swallowed, nodding. "Let's do this," she said.

The others left, the cargo bay doors opened, and she jumped, floating out into time itself.

The first part of her trip went faster than she'd hoped, propelled as she was by the force of her jump. It was both good and bad, as all she could do was keep her eyes trained on the countdown inside the Atom suit's visor, watching her ninety seconds tick down one by one.

Maybe that's why she was so surprised when she passed through the ship's shield. It came upon her like a wall of shimmering light – one moment, she couldn't see it, the next, criss-crossing lines of energy had materialized into her immediate space. She braced herself, certain she would crash.

But she didn't. She moved through it, like passing through a sheet of water.

"It's okay Sara," Rays voice came over the comm. "Take a deep breath, your heart is racing."

She did, and realized she'd squeezed her eyes shut. She opened them, slowly, and then started at the sight before her.

"Why is it…blue?" she asked, staring in wonder around her. It made her feel like she was at the bottom of the ocean, no world above her, and none below. Just tendrils of light, from dark cerulean to bright turquoise, flowing over and around and under in an endless stream.

"It could be that outside of the Waverider's protective field, the human eye perceives the timestream as blue," Stein suggested. "Or it could be because you've entered Mr. Snart's energy field."

She'd slowed considerably. Rip was right, it was like wading through pudding. She glanced at the counter and had to stifle a wave of panic – it had already fallen to forty-five seconds. Half her time was gone.

She squinted as a solid mass of light and energy came into her field of vision.

"Is that his…soul?"

"We don't know, Sara," Ray responded, "the suit's cameras don't work out there. We can't see what you're seeing."

The light came closer, or she supposed she was coming closer to it, although it didn't feel like she was moving at all anymore. As she approached, it grew and solidified, burning bright electric blue, sputtering sparks like a dying star.

That was when the alarm went off.

It was set to twenty seconds remaining, the time the team wanted to pull her back to the Waverider. Her heart dropped at the sound, and she lost her breath. It was just a little beep in her ear, so innocent on its own, but it may as well have signaled the end of the world.

"Sara," Ray said, "we _have_ to pull you back now, it's too dangerous – "

" _No_."

She felt something furious and cold and deadly creep into her voice. "If you do," she warned, "I _swear_ there will be hell to pay." She stopped just short of threatening them directly. They were her friends, her family now, even, but if they ruined this chance…

She felt hot tears spring to her eyes, felt them crawl down her cheeks and leap off her chin, unable to wipe them away. "Don't make me leave him behind again," she begged. "I can't." Her voice broke. "I won't."

_Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep._

The line went silent, save for the ring of the alarm. "It's _my_ life," she reminded them, "it's a risk I'm willing to take. I'm _so_ close."

Rip's voice came over the comm, startling her. "Leave her," he ordered.

"But –" Ray protested.

"You heard her," Rip argued. "It's her choice. But about forty more seconds is all you have, Ms. Lance, before the timestream will certainly be too much for the suit."

The mass of light was right before her now, much larger than it had originally seemed – as large as the Waverider's kitchen, she thought, idly, as she floated into the heart of it, the white-blue light surrounding and engulfing her.

"Now, Sara," Ray said, his quiet guidance a steady comfort in her ear.

She pressed the button on the little device, holding it out as far from her body as she could. It came to life with a little whine, and she felt a sharp _tug_ on her arm.

"What's happening?" she whispered. But her team had no answers.

She watched, amazed, as tiny particles of light began separating themselves from the whole, little pinpricks of blue and silver, almost indistinguishable from the mass. They formed, fell, flew, and began spinning about her – just a few at first, and then dozens, and hundreds, and then thousands of tiny specks darting in all directions, crashing into one another, colliding and combining and dividing again.

And then she felt them moving away, a sudden coolness at her back as they swirled out in front of her, centering around the device.

Around and around they circled, shifting and changing and growing into larger spheres of light. They were moving so fast now, they left little tails behind them as they spun, like comets, she thought, faster and faster until her eyes couldn't keep track. A sudden, heavy heat pressed against her face, and she threw her free hand up to shield her eyes from the brightness. The lights swarmed together, forming a column, glowing and pulsing before her.

And then, it exploded.

She closed her eyes, shuddering as a wave of blinding light rocked through her. It left her ears ringing, her eyes throbbing. But a moment later, it was dark.

She risked a look, peeking one eye open and –

And _he was there_. Floating, as if weightless, arms and legs suspended and eyes closed, little dots of white light slowly drifting in the space around him.

Her breath caught in her throat. "It…it worked," she choked out.

Rip's voice was insistent in her ear. "Grab him and we'll pull you in – _now."_

Sara pocketed the device and reached out for Leonard, moving agonizingly slowly, propelling ever so slightly as she leaned forward. Finally, her gloved hand reached over his.

And went right through it.

She frowned, trying again. And again. But it was as if he wasn't fully corporeal, or wasn't fully there, and she couldn't, it wouldn't stick, it – _the suit_. She drew in a sharp breath. The Atom suit had all kinds of protections and barriers on it, for her safety, but…they were like the Waverider's shield. And maybe those safety measures were preventing her from reaching him. Without even thinking about it, she began unscrewing the glove from the wrist.

"Sara, what are you _doing_?" Ray cried.

A whole new set of warning buzzes and bells went off, but she didn't care. None of that mattered, not now. She ripped the glove off and let it drift away from her, reaching out again for Leonard. He was right there – _right there_. She wasn't giving up now.

Her empty hand closed around his wrist. His closed eyes snapped open. And found hers.

There was no time. There was no distance. And there was no death as his blue eyes stared into her, _so very much alive_.

But then something shifted.

She felt it in her bones, in her core – in her gut, when the world moved and time _changed,_ taking on a life of its own.

The force pressed in on her, pushing and then pulling and tugging and twisting at her, bending and breaking without warning. They were moving, she realized, her and Leonard – no, they were _falling_ , and quickly. There was no room left in her lungs for air, no way to move her mouth for speech. It was over and done and just beginning, as they found themselves spiraling through time itself.

Her grip never left his wrist. And his eyes never left hers. And then they were squeezed through space into nothing.

And nothing they became.

* * *

On the Waverider, the team faced the ship's windows, staring out at the empty end of the steel tether, the one that had, not so long ago, been attached to Sara Lance.

"That wasn't supposed to happen," Cisco said, his voice small.

"No shit," Mick growled.

"Where did they go?" Ray wondered, face scrunched in concern.

"A better question," Rip said, "if they're still alive, of course – would be, _when_ did they go?"

Wells nodded, solemnly. "And how will we find them?"


	10. Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, and sorry for the hiatus! As I've told a few of you, I went through a really big life change recently - I found a new job and moved (alone, except for my dog) across the country! It's been a really busy time, but I promise I haven't forgotten about this story. I hope you enjoy this interlude between parts, following up on what happened to Leonard after Sara left him in the nineties. I'm finishing up the next full chapter now, and it should be posted soon, so look out for that! Thanks so much again for all your support. If you're still reading this and interested in what happens next, please let me know! It gives me more motivation to finish this work, which I started over a year ago. Hard to believe what I thought would be about 5 chapters turned into this! Stay tuned for more.

_Interlude_

_**Starling City – July 15, 1996** _

"Lance? There's someone here to see you. Name's Snart. Says he knows a friend of yours."

Quentin looked up from his paperwork, setting his pen down with a sigh. The week had just started, and he was already ready for it to be over. Stuck in the office all week, with a record high heat wave and broken AC – he was welcoming any distractions at this point, even an unusual one like this.

"Yeah," he nodded. "My pal Rick down at CCPD. Thanks, I'll get him."

The young man waiting for him outside the main offices was just a kid really. He was hunched over, arms resting on his knees, making his whole body bounce a little as he anxiously tapped his feet. He had a desperate air about him, the look of a man grasping at straws. Understandably, since Quentin really didn't know what he could hope to gain by coming here.

"Leonard?" he asked, standing before him. The kid nodded, and Quentin shook his hand. "Officer Lance. How can I help you?"

"I'm looking for someone," he said, meeting Quentin's eyes. Despite his obvious nerves, Quentin saw a heap of fierce determination there, and felt a grudging admiration for it. "Maybe you can help me find her."

When Rick had told him about Snart, he hadn't expected such a…well, such a good looking guy. Snart seemed like the kind who'd have girls falling all over him. He had that troubled bad boy look he knew from his own daughters' magazines was popular these days. He wouldn't have expected someone like that to need to chase down anyone, let alone spend three months looking for her.

And yet, Quentin watched him spend the week pouring over their missing persons reports and bookings records, making calls to outpost offices to follow up on leads, only to hang up the phone each time in disappointment.

Kid was still there at 8 p.m. the next Monday, going over the same records he'd already reviewed at least three times. The station offices had long since quieted, and the sky outside was beginning to darken, but Leonard showed no signs of leaving.

Quentin watched as he scratched something out on his pad of paper, only to drop both pen and pad to the side, covering his face with his hands. Slumped down on the floor with a ring of useless documents surrounding him, the kid was the picture of defeat.

That was when Quentin made his own call.

"Hey honey," he said into the phone. "I'm gonna be late tonight. Tuck in Laurel and Sara for me, and tell them I love them. Love you, too."

Leonard looked up as Quentin approached, dropping his hands to his lap and resting his head back against the wall behind him.

"Sorry I'm still in your way," he said. "I suppose you're coming to tell me to get out of here?"

"Nah," Quentin replied. "You hungry?"

By the time the Chinese arrived, Quentin had moved Leonard and his investigation over to a table and chairs where he could join him.

"How do you know Rick?" Leonard asked, once they were settled in with their food.

"Our daughters go to the same summer camp in the country," Quentin said, between bites. "This year we're taking a fishing trip between dropping the girls off and picking them up."

Leonard hummed, nodding. "My sister, Lisa, wanted to go to that camp," he said. "Maybe next year."

Quentin paused, assessing the kid. He knew who he was – Rick had told him everything. Deadbeat dad who abused his whole family in between jail stints. To think a man like that had ever worn the blue. Mom had skipped town the last time Lewis Snart made bail, and hadn't even told her kids where she was going. Abandoned her own kids – that was how much she didn't want her husband to know where she was.

And then there was Leonard himself. In and out of juvie his whole life. It was understandable, given the circumstances. It'd probably felt safer than home. Now he was skirting just barely on this side of the law, taking care of his baby sister all alone. From what he'd heard, Leonard was doing a pretty good job of it, too. Quentin couldn't help but think of Laurel and Sara, about the same age as Leonard's Lisa.

He could see why Rick had helped him. It was why he felt compelled to help the kid now, too.

"Tell me about this girl you're looking for," he said, gesturing at Leonard's pile of papers and records.

"She's not just any girl."

Quentin chucked. "I can tell by how hard you're trying to find her." He paused, taking a bite before asking, "What happened?"

Rick hadn't told Quentin much before Leonard arrived, and he found himself more and more amazed as he recounted his story. Kid was a hero, that was for damn sure. And, unfortunately, an idiot.

"Let me get this straight," Quentin said when Leonard finished. "You meet this girl by helping her stop a gang of armed robbers – risking your life and saving a handful of hostages in the process – and then you spend half a day in lockup together. Never seen her before or since, but you've been looking for her the past three months."

"That's right."

"I hate to say this Len, but ever think the girl just doesn't want to be found?"

Leonard shook his head. "That's not it," he argued. "She was running from something. Not me," he added, casting Quentin a sidelong glance. "I think she's mixed up in something bad. Maybe she fell in with the wrong crowd. Maybe she owes someone money, or maybe someone's blackmailing her. I don't know. But I could tell she needs help. And if I can, I'm going to give it to her."

Quentin chewed and swallowed, thinking over Leonard's words.

"Let's say you're right," he started. "If you find this girl, you're going to get caught in the crosshairs of whatever she's involved in. It could be dangerous. It could get you killed. Is she really worth that?"

"Yes."

Leonard's response was instant and unwavering.

"Why?" Quentin couldn't help asking. "You spent a day with her. How is she worth dying for?"

"Feels like I've known her my whole life," Leonard said. "I know that sounds cliché, but it's true. From the moment I saw her, I felt this draw to her. Red string of fate, maybe. Never believed in anything like that before, but… I've got to find her. I can't stop until I do."

"And if you find her?" Quentin prodded.

"When I find her," Leonard corrected.

"If you find her," Quentin repeated, emphasis on the  _if_. "What if she doesn't want anything to do with you?"

"Then I'll leave her alone," Leonard allowed. "But that's not going to happen."

"Maybe she's not interested in you."

Leonard smirked, the little smile lighting up his face in a way Quentin hadn't seen since he'd met him.

"Oh, she's interested."

Quentin rolled his eyes at the bravado of youth.

"Fine, let's say she's interested," Quentin said. Truth be told, one look at Leonard's pretty face had him believing it too. "What're you going to do?"

"I'm going to make sure she knows she's not alone," Leonard said. "And then I'm going to prove it to her."

Romantic, Quentin had to admit. Still stupid, but romantic. He looked Leonard over, chewing and thinking. The kid had never had a real father. No one to teach him how to be a man. And yet, he seemed to understand things a lot of men didn't, and that impressed Quentin. Of course, he didn't know everything, and Quentin couldn't help the need to give him a little fatherly advice.

"Well, fair warning," Quentin said, balling up a napkin and shooting it at the trashcan. He missed. "She's probably gonna be mad at you for something."

Leonard frowned. "Why?"

Quentin stood up to retrieve the napkin, stretching out the kinks in his back. He was getting too old to spend all day in a chair.

"Women always are," he replied, cryptically. "Trust me, I've got three of them at home. Piece of advice?" He sat back down with a sigh. "Don't kiss her 'til she forgives you."

Leonard chuckled, a true smile spreading across his face for the first time.

"And what if she won't?" he teased.

"Then kiss her until she forgives you," Quentin said, sagely.

Leonard let out a bark of a laugh at that, and Quentin joined in. He couldn't help but like the kid; he was clever and determined. Quentin found himself thinking that if something ever happened to one of his little girls someday, he'd feel better knowing they had a guy like that who cared enough to find them and do something about it.

"Alright," Quentin said, when they'd both finally stopped laughing. "What're your leads? You know much that can help us?"

"She's from Starling, or so she said," Leonard started. "That's why I'm here. Her dad was or maybe still is a cop," he added.

"Hmm," Quentin mused. "That would narrow it down. Name?"

"Sara."

His expression turned soft as he said it, more than just a hint of affection in his tone.

"Might be a fake name," Quentin pointed out.

Leonard frowned, but shook his head. "She gave the name 'Kendra Saunders' when she was booked. If she'd wanted to use a fake name with me, she would've said the same."

"Huh," Quentin said. "You know, I have a daughter named Sara." Leonard perked at that. "But she's about 20 years too young to be the girl you're looking for."

Leonard deflated as Quentin got up and walked to his desk, grabbing a photo of his daughters.

"Laurel and Sara," he said, pointing to each girl in turn.

"Cute," Leonard said. "Not who I'm looking for obviously." He paused, looking at Quentin for a moment before handing the photo back. "They're lucky to have a dad like you."

Quentin nodded, swallowing back a sudden lump in his throat.

Leonard reached into his jacket and pulled out a photo of his own.

"This is the woman I'm looking for."

Quentin examined the Polaroid, glancing back up at Leonard as he did. He definitely believed the kid now when he said this girl was interested in him; that much was evident.

The photo was of the two of them, both with hands cuffed behind their backs, leaning into one another and each smirking at the other. The push me-pull me attraction was clear, with the girl looking like she was torn between kissing or killing Leonard in that very moment. Her face was turned just slightly toward the camera, enough to tell what she looked like, even though she had eyes only for the man – Leonard, kid that he was, did look more like a man the way she was looking at him – before her.

"She's lovely," Quentin said, handing the photo back. "Clearly a whole heap of trouble, but lovely. And," he added, thinking, "she does look a little like my Sara."

Leonard smiled, tucking the photo safely back inside his jacket.

"Where'd you get that picture, anyway?" Quentin asked.

"Rick pulled it out of evidence for me. Thought it was romantic. I'm glad he did – not that the police needed them anyway after we were exonerated, but all the evidence about her, including the rest of the photos, disappeared after that."

"Disappeared?"

"Yeah. No idea how or who took them, but there's no trace of Sara left on any photos, video or paperwork at the station. She's like a ghost," Leonard explained. "And someone went to great lengths to make her that way."

"I'm starting to think you're right about her being in trouble," Quentin said, stomach dropping at the new piece of information.

Leonard nodded. "What else can we do?" he asked, a pleading in his tone that made Quentin wish he had any answers at all.

"We'll figure something out," he said, and prayed to god it was true. "What else do you know?"

They stayed up late into the evening, talking and brainstorming any new leads they could chase. By the time they finally left, the streets were quiet, and the moon was high in the sky.

"Are you sure I can't convince you to stay the night with us?" Quentin asked again, feeling guilty at the thought of the kid sleeping at some sleazy motel.

"Yes," Leonard said. "I don't want to inconvenience you or your family. Really, you've done enough already." He paused before adding, "Thank you."

Quentin nodded, watching Leonard turn away and wishing again there was more he could do.

"Hey Len," he said, suddenly.

Leonard turned, eyebrows raised. "Yeah?"

"This girl, Sara, whoever she is?" he paused, nodding. "She's lucky. If you find her, just remember that."

Leonard smiled, softly, and nodded back at him.

"When I find her, I'll be the lucky one," he said. "And I will find her," he added. "I will."

Somehow, Quentin believed him.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, here we go - at last - part three! In case you missed it, I also updated this story with a short interlude yesterday. Check that out if you haven't seen it yet. As always, thank you guys for all your wonderful feedback. It really means a lot to know so many of you are still following this story. I really hope you continue to enjoy it!

_Part 3_

Sara had fallen from a great height once before. That time, she hadn't realized she was dying. This time, she'd known it for certain.

She'd known it, in that split second before the world came crashing down, even if she couldn't quite remember why. She'd welcomed death like a lost lover; she'd found comfort in her arms. It was startlingly easy, dying. She remembered that much. The only other thing she knew was that this time, it had been worth it.

It was worth it.

_I don't like you, but at least I'm not dying alone._

_At least I'm not…_

_Alone._

Coming back to life was the hard part.

Awareness struck her with vicious claws, scraping at her chest and squeezing at her throat, robbing her of every breath she tried to take.

_You're dead._

_So were you, once._

The darkness was so complete, it was impossible to tell if her eyes were open or closed – or if she even had eyes at all. It didn't matter. Eyes were useless anyway when you couldn't breathe. She grasped for her throat, struggling as her fingers slipped and slid against glass. At least she had hands, but –

"God damn, fucking death trap," she spat, wrenching the helmet of the Atom suit off her head and tossing it aside. She threw off her only remaining glove while she was at it, disgusted at the tech.

_I'm gonna kill Ray._

She coughed, sucking in as many deep breaths as she could. The air was cool on her face, soothing to her pounding head and racing heart. It took every ounce of her strength to roll over onto her stomach and prop herself on her elbows, and she bit back a groan at the effort.

Everything hurt, and she wasn't entirely sure the ground wasn't swaying as she raised her head up, slowly. Now that she'd removed her helmet, she could see it was nighttime. There was a full moon low in the sky somewhere above her, bathing her in cool, blue light.

Sara took in as many details as she could, fuzzy as they were, using each one as an anchor to reality. She was disoriented; likely concussed, and nauseous. But the knowledge of it was too distant, like it was coming from someone else.

She blinked, somehow surprised and not to find herself surrounded by a small crater, dirt and rubble and her at the center of it.

 _Must be what it looks like when an angel falls from heaven_ , she mused. Except that she was no angel, and Leonard certainly wasn't –

"Leonard," she breathed, as it all came rushing back.

She lurched to her feet, nearly retching as the world spun about her. But she pushed the bile down, spinning even as her head did, whipping around to look in every direction.

A sick, desperate feeling bubbled in her stomach, rising up as she strained to see into the darkness beyond, and tried to make sense of the jumbled mess that had become of her mind.

Sara had successfully brought Leonard back to life. She'd rescued him from the timestream, as impossible as it had seemed.

 _Yes,_ she remembered, the device her team had built – with the help of their new friends from S.T.A.R. Labs – had actually, miraculously worked. It had  _worked._ She'd seen Leonard alive and whole. She'd had him back.

 _Her_ Leonard. The one she could keep. Not the Leonard she'd left in the past, or the one from her dreams, or the one from an unknown future.

_Hers._

She'd known it the moment he'd opened his eyes.

And then…

She swayed on her feet, nearly collapsing. She locked her eyes on the moon above, watched as it jumped across the sky, doubled, tripled, and split in half. She planted her feet as solidly as she could, taking a few steadying breaths.  _Focus, Lance._

Leonard had been there. She'd grabbed him, to pull him back to the Waverider. And then…then they'd fallen.  _We fell from time itself,_ she mused, still not really understanding how. It must've been as bad as falling from an airplane without a parachute. Worse, maybe.

And if that fall had caused a crater where she'd landed, in the Atom suit, then what had become of Leonard? Where was he now?

How could he have possibly –

Sara choked back the gruesome image that came to mind. How broken had she been after just falling off a rooftop? How broken would  _he_ be?

No. She couldn't think it. Not now, not after everything.

_Never say never when it comes to me, Lance._

Her feet moved without thought, taking her several swaying steps until she broke into a sprint, working on nothing but adrenaline and instinct. She nearly tripped, catching herself with her palm hard and flat to the ground. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she remembered how she lost that glove of the Atom suit in the timestream, when she'd reached for Leonard's hand.

_I didn't come this far to lose you now._

She was in an alley, she realized, numbly – cobbled street beneath her and brick buildings on either side finally coming into focus. But where was Leonard?  _Leonard –_

 _There_.

A shadow moved among shadows, and Sara rushed to its side, praying it was him, praying he was okay, praying, and barely aware that she was calling for him, his name on her lips over and over, her own voice nothing more than a buzz in her ears.

" _Leonard._ "

He was hunched over on his hands and knees, head hanging low to the ground and face hidden, panting. Before she could reach him, she watched as he leaned to the side and vomited, only just missing his own hands.

Sara cringed, nearly doing the same. He was coughing, and shaking, and retching, and she couldn't feel anything but relieved.

 _You're alive_.

She couldn't believe it. A dry sob escaped her lips before she could catch it, and she didn't care. Somehow, they'd made it.

Even if she had no idea where – or when – they were.

"Leonard?" she asked, slowly dropping down beside him. He didn't move, or respond. He just stayed crouched over, breathing heavily.

She swallowed, taking a few deep breaths herself. She realized she was shaking, too – from the adrenaline, the fear, or the chill in the air she was only just becoming aware of – she wasn't sure.

"Leonard?" she tried again.

When he didn't answer, she reached out a trembling hand to touch his back, trying to give him comfort, or at least, get his attention. But her fingers had barely brushed his jacket when he started, violently flinching away from her touch.

She drew back just as suddenly, holding her hand to her chest, a strange lump in her throat.

"It's just me," she murmured.

But he didn't seem to hear.

Sara's heart pounded in her ears as she waited for him to move, not daring to touch him again, watching her breath swirl between them like a cloud of smoke, thick as any wall.

Somewhere above, another cloud crossed in front of the moon, dropping them in momentary darkness. With it, a rumbling sounded in the distance – the war cry of some passing storm. And still she watched and waited for Leonard to respond, no idea what she'd say to him when he did.

Now that he was here, now that he was beside her, the weight of all the weeks she'd spent missing him, or telling herself that she didn't miss him, the tears shed and the punches thrown and that long day she'd spent locked in a prison cell with his younger self…

All of it hung so heavy on her. She'd never really allowed herself to think through what this moment might be like, and now that it was here…

An eternity passed before Leonard groaned, rolling over and sitting down hard. He swayed back and forth as he did, buffeted by some unseen tide, only just catching himself with both hands on the ground.

His eyes were glazed, staring off into the distance, his skin damp with sweat. She'd rarely seen him look worse, even after Mick had beat his face into a bloody pulp. And yet, the sight of that face left unshed tears burning at the corners of her eyes.

" _Leonard_ ," she repeated, drawing his attention at last.

His mouth parted, like he'd only just realized she was there, and  _finally_ , he looked at her.

He looked at her, with those blue eyes she knew so well, but his expression was clouded. Absent. Like he couldn't really see her.

"Are you alright?" she asked, worried.

His brow furrowed and he frowned, running a hand over his face.

"Len?"

The pit dropped out of her stomach when he still didn't respond to his name.

"It's me. It's Sara."

It was a long moment before he blinked, his eyes focusing for the first time.

"Sara," he agreed, softly, and she relaxed.

He recognized her, at least, and she almost smiled at the way he said her name, how it sent the usual shivers down her spine. Oh, she'd missed it.

"Are you okay?"

He sucked in a deep breath and put his head in his hands, shuddering on the exhale.

"Never better," he coughed, and only Sara's superb reflexes saved Ray's Atom suit from being covered in a fresh wave of vomit.

She took a few steps back, giving Leonard a little breathing room. Her racing heart had calmed somewhat at the sound of his voice, and her head was starting to clear.

 _He's alive,_ she repeated to herself, still in awe of it. She didn't care how it was possible.

But –

A crack rang through the air, loud and hostile, ripping her relief away. It echoed down the alley and through her heart, setting her nerves on fire all over again.

_Thunder, or gunshot?_

She was too disoriented to say.

She lifted her eyes to the night sky, searching for answers, listening for any other clues. She found none. It was a grim warning that even after surviving the timestream and their fall, they weren't out of danger yet.

"Where are we?" Leonard asked, his voice quiet. Weak.

Sara drew her attention back to him – still seated on the ground, the moon casting harsh shadows on his tired face.

"I don't know." She crouched back down to him. "What do you remember?"

He stilled, gaze drooped and downcast. Several pounding heartbeats passed before his eyes lit and met hers, studying her sharply.

His hand fell limply to his side.

"Trading places with Mick," he whispered. "And… You."

He averted his eyes, staring somewhere near her ear instead.

_So, he remembers the kiss._

Leonard took a deep breath, still staring into the distance.

"And the Oculus." He paused. "And…"

His eyes darkened, narrowing and turning back to her. His voice dropped, low and dangerous as she'd ever heard it.

"How?" he asked, but it was more a demand than a question.

_That's a very long story._

Sara's eyes fluttered shut as she assessed the situation. They were alive, but who knew how long that would last if they stayed here, in this dark alley of some unknown city? They must have made a commotion when they landed, and they were sitting ducks, unarmed and confused.

"Look, I'll explain everything," she said. "But for now, if you can walk, we need to get out of here. I don't know where we are, or even what year it is."

She thought of 2046, of the terrible futures and pasts they'd seen.

"I don't think we're safe here."

" _How?_ " Leonard insisted, anger in his voice that she couldn't understand.

Sara stood, ignoring his question and hoping he would do the same.

"We need to move."

"Not until," he paused, and his eyes closed for a moment, like he was laboring to speak. "Not until you tell me what happened."

He stared up at her and through her, stopping her heart and throwing her off-balance as only he could do. She floundered, not sure where to even begin or if she was ready to tell him everything she'd been through to get to this moment.

"How am I alive?" he pushed, his voice rising. "Tell me!"

She recoiled as Leonard's temper flared, his eyes wide and haunted.

Sara wanted to tell him everything. Wanted to tell him how much it meant to see him whole, to be close enough to reach out and touch him.

That she'd have traded anything to make this happen.

She wanted to tell him, and yet her mouth went dry and her voice left her at just the thought of it.

And she couldn't. Not now.

She watched him while her body decided what she could and couldn't say. His breathing was labored, his mouth a hard line, and the shadows beneath his eyes were more than just shadows.

Sara didn't know what he'd been through, either. Was the last thing he experienced the Oculus, or had he found awareness in the time stream?

What had it felt like to be ripped into millions of pieces, molecule by molecule, and then stitched back together again?

Another low rumble sounded overhead, this time, certainly thunder. But it made her uneasy. They were too exposed, and maybe even blocked in – she couldn't see where the alley led. She didn't like not having an easy escape route.

Whatever Leonard had experienced, Sara knew him well enough to know he'd fight her if she tried to get him out of here without any answers. She didn't think she was strong enough to just throw him over a shoulder (in the state she was now, anyway), and she was becoming increasingly desperate to put as much distance between them and this alley as she could.

"Alright," she relented, feeling her heart race at the thought of recounting the story. She knew she couldn't tell him about meeting the future version of him. Not yet, not when it would mean saying so much else.

Like how he'd proven he was from the future by knowing that she was wearing his ring. That he'd said she was still wearing it, in his future.

 _It's yours,_ he'd said. _Just like me._

This Leonard didn't even know she had it.

"We went to S.T.A.R. Labs," she started, choking out the words, hoping he'd at least wait to ask about the missing details. "Met Cisco Ramon and Harrison Wells. They helped us make…" she trailed off, not sure how to explain, until her eyes lighted on the device itself, just a few feet from Leonard.

"This," she continued, picking up the device and gesturing to it. "You…your molecules, or matter, or whatever you call it, I don't know – were, well...suspended, in the timestream. I took this out to where you were, and it put you back again."

She sucked in a breath through her teeth, trying to keep them from clattering, not sure when she'd started shaking again.

"I don't know how it worked. Just that it did."

She paused, watching his face as he processed the information. He knew she was leaving things out – he always knew when someone wasn't giving him the whole truth.

"But something happened," she added, quickly, before he could ask any of the dozens of questions he surely had. "I don't know what or how, but we fell through the timestream, and now I think we're in another time period. That's why we need to get out of here – now."

"They sent  _you_?" Leonard asked, ignoring Sara's urgency for his own. "Into the timestream? Not...Mick?"

"He's fine," she assured him, watching relief cross his features. "Mick's too big for the Atom suit, or I'm sure he would've put up a fight."

She shrugged, thinking how the others had tried to keep her from going, how dangerous they'd said it was. She hadn't cared.

"I didn't give the others a choice."

For a moment, Leonard just stared at her. His eyes were so bright they almost glowed, and she was overwhelmed again by just the thought that he was actually, truly alive.

"Why would you risk yourself like that?"

His words hung heavy in the air between them, filled with too many emotions. And with that, she wasn't about to tell him just how close she'd come to trading her life for his, or how glad she would've been to do it.

"We need to go," she repeated, avoiding the question.

"Sara…"

A sudden screaming in her ears drowned out whatever else he might have said. A burst of wind had risen up out of nowhere, a gale fast and forceful as it swirled through the alley. The wind took her breath away and buffeted her back, ripping at her face and hands.

Sara nearly fell, throwing her arms out and shifting her feet to regain her balance. And still the wind whistled around her, fighting her like a living thing.

She sputtered, nearly crying out when a piece of paper whipped into her face. She wrenched it away, holding it out in front of her.

It was a newspaper, she realized, The Central City Citizen. The edges of it fluttered and jumped from her hands as she grasped on tight, squinting to read the headline.

_WALL ST. IN PANIC AS STOCKS CRASH_

Her stomach fell as her eyes moved to the corner, searching for the date.

_Saturday, Oct. 26, 1929_

She swallowed, unease rising even as the wind died down.

They were in Central City, on the eve of the Great Depression, depending on how old the newspaper was, and whether her memory of her high school U.S. history class was any good.

"Leonard." Her voice wavered as she read the date again, hoping she'd made a mistake. "We really need to get out of here."

When he didn't answer, Sara ripped her eyes from the paper and back to Leonard.

But Leonard wasn't there.

The paper blew away, forgotten as she looked up and around, spinning in place. But he wasn't anywhere in sight, he wasn't –

And then suddenly he was, right where he had been moments before.

Except it was wrong.

The alley was too bright, shadows receding from where Leonard sat, gaze unseeing as he held his hand up in front of his face.

That's when she saw the light, shining white and blinding, emanating from the tips of his fingers. She watched in horror as it began to spread, crawling up his right hand, then his wrist, and up to his elbow.

And as it did, he began to disappear.

It was like a flame eating away at an old piece of parchment, slowly but surely curling in and up and around him, disintegrating him bit by bit.

She could feel him go.

It was a tangible tug, pulling at the space around them even more forcefully than the wind had, whipping her hair into her eyes and threatening to knock her over.

For a moment, she thought he truly was on fire, as she watched the strange light run up his arm and shoulder, then down his chest and stomach in jagged edges, illuminating his eyes as he stared up at her in shock.

"No," she breathed, letting herself fall toward him, grasping onto his remaining wrist. "No."

He was only half a man now, half man and half blinding, twisted light, and her stomach lurched as she pulled him into her.

_No._

Then she remembered – the device _,_ the one that had saved him to begin with, still lay by his feet. She fumbled desperately for it with her free hand and shoved it against his chest, jabbing at the power button.

Nothing happened.

Her heart stuck in her throat as she jabbed it again, and again, clinging to Leonard as it did nothing, as he kept on slipping away from her.

She let it fall uselessly to the ground.

"Stay with me," she begged, grasping at his face and rubbing at his cheek. "Stay."

He only had one eye left, and it stared into her, ripping open a hole in her heart. For a moment, she held her breath, just willing him back to Earth, back to existence, back to her.

"Stay," she demanded, tears blinding her eyes.

Suddenly, she felt his hand grabbing at her arm.

He took a shuddering breath, his eye widening before falling shut – and all at once, he melted back into being.

The light faded as fast as it had come, the aura around him dimming out to nothing but a whisper of a breeze shooing at the pavement. He collapsed into her arms, and she held him against her, sighing in relief.

"Thank god," she murmured, running her fingers up and down his back as he clung to her, chest heaving deep breaths in and out.

For awhile they just stayed like that, her hands running soothing patterns across his back and scalp.

 _Time paradox?_ Sara wondered, blinking back fresh tears. She calmed herself by counting Leonard's inhales and exhales, each a tiny gift from the universe. Had she done something wrong when she'd saved him? Had she failed to close the time loop?

She closed her eyes and rested her head against his, pushing the thoughts away. He was here now. Nothing else mattered.

Sara was still a little breathless, heart still pounding, when Leonard came back to himself.

And pushed away.

Hands gripped her shoulders, holding her at arm's length.

"Get back," he gasped.

There was a wild look in his eyes and a hard set to his jaw as he pulled himself as far from her as he could, crawling back on his palms.

"Len –"

"No," he insisted. "This is wrong. I shouldn't be…" he trailed off, eyes going distant before snapping back to her. "This isn't right. I'm dangerous." He leaned back, inching himself that much farther from her. "Get away now, while you can."

"You're just confused," she said. "I don't know what that was, but it's going to be fine. We're fine."

Leonard held up his hand, watching it trembling. If she could still see the phantom of the light that had almost taken him, so could he.

"You don't understand," Leonard protested, head shaking. "I saw…" Another pause. "Not this." His voice dropped to a whisper. "This is wrong. Go, now."

"Look," Sara said, closing the small distance he'd put between them, coming close enough that their knees touched, despite his protests. Then she moved closer still, between the circle of his legs, swatting him away as he tried to stop her.

She took his face in her hands, and he stilled.

"I'm not going to leave you again."

He stared at her, mouth parted in surprise.

"I won't." She paused, stroking her thumb down his cheek. "So please," she murmured, "don't ask me to."

The night felt very quiet after that. Sara studied his eyes, wondering what he saw in hers.  _I'd die before I left you again._ She hoped he could see that.

A few more moments passed before Leonard softened, leaning into her touch.

"Okay."

She breathed out at his quiet agreement, releasing the ache in her chest. She closed her eyes in relief – only for them to snap open again as he placed his hands over hers.

"How long?" he asked, a rare gentleness around his eyes. "Since…"

 _I died_ , went unspoken.

"Oh."

Sara let her hands fall from his face, and he let go, too. She wondered if she imagined his reluctance.

"Three and a half months," she said, not caring if it sounded like she'd been counting the days. She had. Still, she sat back a bit, returning a safe distance between them.

His brow furrowed, at her action, or his thoughts, she wasn't sure.

"Savage?" he asked.

"Dead," she confirmed. "I got to kill him. Mick did, too."

He quirked an eyebrow.

"Long story," she said, "that I'll save for later."

"You're full of those," he commented, hint of the old sarcasm back in his voice.

"This isn't the time," Sara reminded him. "I saw a newspaper," she added, trying to ignore the reminder of what happened after that. "We're in Central City, but it's the end of October, in the year 1929."

Leonard hummed, knowingly. "The stock market crash."

"Yeah," she agreed. "Not a great time for anyone, especially two people lost, with no money."

"If we're in Central City, we're not lost," Leonard countered, confidence back in full form. "This is my town. I know every inch."

"Tell me where we are right now."

He paused, glancing around the alley.

"That's not the point."

Sara couldn't help but smirk, even after everything.

"We'll find a landmark," he continued, eyes narrowing reproachfully at her growing smile. "Then we won't be lost. But," he added, "how will we contact the Waverider?"

Sara sat back on her hands, considering it.

"When we were in the fifties, Ray used the Atom suit to create some kind of honing beacon to call home," she mused. "But it took two years to work, and I wouldn't even know where to start."

Leonard nodded, slowly, frowning in thought.

"What have you all been up to since killing Savage?" he asked.

"Basically, we're the Time Police, since you destroyed the Time Masters," she explained, eyeing him carefully for any reaction. He gave none, old mask firmly back in place. "We track down what Rip calls 'aberrations' in time," she continued. "Time pirates and other criminals changing time to suit their own gains. We stop them, and put things back. Or as close as we can, anyway."

His eyes lighted, sparkling even in the dim moonlight. "That's how we get them to find us."

"What do you mean?"

"All we have to do is create one of these 'aberrations'. Then good ol' Rip will come running."

Sara raised her eyebrows. "Yeah, that would work," she admitted. "But how? I think we'd have to change something pretty big."

The ghost of a smirk played on his face.

"Well," he drawled, "that should be easy, for us. Think we can start by making a little trouble."

Sara rolled her eyes, but smiled. "I think we'd have to try not to."

"The twenties won't know what hit them."

"Not after we're through with them," she agreed. Standing, she reached out a hand to help him up. "Can you walk?"

Leonard nodded, hesitating just a moment before taking it.

It was strange to see him standing before her again, when she thought she'd never have this chance. She held onto his hand without thought, lingering in his touch, the moment reminding her too clearly of the last time they'd stood like this.

When they'd said goodbye in the nineties. When young Len had told her to stay.

 _Where do you belong?_   he'd asked.

She'd felt like she didn't belong anywhere, then.

But now she knew.

_Wherever you are._

Sara almost told him then. Almost. Instead, she released him, nodding to the street beyond.

Together, they disappeared into the night.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Thank you so much for all the kind feedback on the last chapter. It means so much to see how many of you are still reading! This chapter is a little shorter than usual, but I'm going on vacation and wanted to make sure I got an update in before I left. Hope you continue to enjoy this!

_**Central City – October 26, 1929** _

The streets were eerily still and quiet as Sara and Leonard moved through them, two phantoms displaced by time. It seemed they were haunting an empty city.

"Do you know where we are yet?" Sara asked.

Leonard rounded the corner ahead of her, pausing before beckoning her forward.

"I do," he answered, words barely a whisper on the night air.

Sara followed, stopping short as her eyes landed on the landmark Leonard must have recognized. Must have, because she recognized it, too.

Central City National Bank.

Her heart leapt to her throat. It was where she and Leonard's younger self had stopped that heist in 1996.

In that time, the Greco-Roman style bank had been surrounded by sky scrapers, all of its marble and columns just a relic of a forgotten time. Now, it loomed large and impressive, the biggest building on this city block.

"We need to get to a seedier part of town," Leonard said. "All the law-abiding citizens around here are asleep."

His eyes moved from the white bank, standing in stark contrast against the dark night around it, and back to her.

"But first," he added, "we need to get you out of the Atom Suit."

His words faded from her ears. And for a moment, Sara was taken forcibly back to that day in the nineties. Instead of her Leonard, she saw only young Len before her.

His face was smooth and untroubled as he passed her in that bank hall, holding her prisoner in his stare.

She felt more than remembered him saving her from being shot, when he tackled her to the floor with their limbs tangled together.

She saw again his dark hair and flash of a smirk as he was shoved into a squad car, wrongly arrested, for once. She found herself pushed in after, rolled against him, her mouth on his leather jacket and his blue eyes staring down at her.

They were the same.  _The same eyes I belong to. The same that belong to me._

_I was so lost without you._

She pushed back against the memories of being locked in that jail cell together, of his face floating closer and closer until his lips were pressed against hers, his hands tangled in her hair. Of losing herself to the longing, of the right and wrongness of it. Of the feeling of kissing someone she could never have, hers for the moment but ultimately, lost forever.

Standing right in front of her, now.

"What?" Sara heard herself asking, as the night bubbled back into being around her.

"I think this is the kind of era when people get locked up for doing crazy things like wearing suits of armor," Leonard said, mouth quirking into a half-smile. "Wouldn't want you getting thrown in jail or an insane asylum before we can get out of here."

Sara swallowed, mouth dry.

Did he remember it? Did he remember meeting her that day, saving her life? Asking her to stay, the kiss goodbye – any of it?

Had it even happened in the timeline he belonged to?

"I doubt the police would stand a chance against me, especially in the Atom Suit," she murmured, trying to break free of the questions.

Leonard hadn't shown any signs of recognition when he looked at the bank. What if he didn't remember, or it hadn't even happened for him? Her heart sank at the thought.

"Maybe all we need to do is let people see me in the suit," Sara continued, shoving her memories aside. If he didn't remember, it did no good for her to. "I'll fly around Central City, tomorrow morning. It'll be huge news – maybe enough for the guys to see it on the Waverider."

"Or maybe they'll cover it up," Leonard countered. "The U.S. government has always been good at that. And we'll get locked away or killed, because they have bullets in this time, too, and you won't want to fire back, or hurt anyone."

Sara shrugged, chewing her lip. She was more the running in head first type – think later, move now. But he had a point.

"Let's stick to the plan for now," he suggested. "Get the lay of the land. See what kind of trouble we can make the old-fashioned way, before we do anything desperate."

When Sara nodded, Leonard started moving again, glancing back to make sure she followed.

"There's an old hotel a couple blocks from here," he said. "It used to be a department store. Maybe in this time, it still is. Let's see if we can find it."

"And loot it?"

"Of course."

The building Leonard pointed out was, in this time, still a department store. Leonard wasted no time pulling a set of lock picks from his jacket, opening the doors before she could even ask if he always carried those.

"I'm surprised we haven't run into anyone yet," Sara said, as Leonard shut and locked the doors behind them again. "I wonder how late it is."

Inside the store was somehow even more eerily quiet, even the smallest city noises muted here. Only the dim light from an outside street lamp spilled in through windows, leaving the room cast in shadows.

The wares on display were guarded by mannequins, at least a dozen scattered around the large showroom. Their plastic bodies were posed in attractive styles of the time, dresses, skirts and blouses, and each of them in fashionable hats. Sara felt like she was interrupting some secret meeting between them, intruding on something she had no right to be part of.

"Have you ever seen Doctor Who?" she asked, frowning against the unsettled feeling it left her. "I swear that mannequin just moved."

"Sara," Leonard said, and she turned at the seriousness in his voice. "Now that we're somewhere safe, I need you to tell me everything that's happened."

He paused, and her heart raced as he took a few steps toward her, his face hard and unreadable.

"Everything," he repeated.

"I told you –"

"No. You didn't."

Leonard stopped just inches before her, eyes watching her intently. A bolt of lightning flashed outside, washing his face in blue. It took her back to that moment in the Starling City warehouse that had changed everything, when she'd met his future self.

_Where have you been?_  she'd asked.

_Nowhere I could have reached you._  His words echoed in her ears.

A roll of thunder rumbled in the distance – in her memories, or in life, she couldn't say. Either way, she took it as her cue.

"I…" she started, taking a few steadying breaths to calm herself. It didn't help. "The team was on a mission, to find the source of an aberration in 2011. We went to the industrial district in Starling City. It was a bad idea, but we split into pairs." She was rambling, and she knew it, delaying. God, she couldn't even look at him. "I was with Rip, until we got separated. And then…"

She took a shuddering breath, settling her gaze on the wall behind Leonard's head.

"Then you were there."

"Me?" he blurted, the word full of surprise.

"Sort of, yes."

She closed her eyes for a moment, seeing future Leonard there, the ghost brought to life, the desperation in his eyes and plea in his voice that had begged her to believe it was really him.

"Your future self," she clarified, finally. "You – he – told me I could save you, if I went to S.T.A.R. Labs on April 16, 2016, and met Cisco Ramon. Does that date mean anything to you?"

"No."

Sara risked a glance at him, heart tightening at the troubled look on his face, the hard lines around his frown. She dropped her eyes down.

"I wanted you to come back to the Waverider with me and tell the others, but you said you couldn't." She sighed, remembering the moment, how much she'd wanted him to stay. "You couldn't really tell me anything else, either, except that the warehouse we were in was rigged with explosives. The building blew up." Leonard started. "We got out in time," she added, quickly, "but I was knocked out from the blast. When I woke up, you were gone."

A silence fell between them, stretching out the moments before she spoke again.

"Rip didn't want us to go. He said it was a critical moment in the timeline, and we weren't supposed to interfere. But Ray punched him, if you can believe that."

Her mouth curved up just a bit at the memory, the ghost of a smile.  _Oh, Ray_. Sara wished she had some of his cheer with them now.

"He, Mick and I commandeered the jump ship. Then it was like I told you," she finished. "Cisco and Dr. Wells came back with us to the Waverider, where they built that device with Martin, and Ray and Jax helped too. Cisco is a metahuman, and his powers let him figure out where you were in the timestream. All I had to do was get out there and press the button. Here we are."

"That wasn't 'all,'" Leonard scoffed, his voice laced with sudden anger. "You could have  _died._ "

His words stung like an accusation, and Sara recoiled from it. "You mean like you did?" she asked, coolly, her own temper flaring. She met his eyes.

He looked like she'd slapped him.

"How do you know that I could've died, anyway?" she asked, softening.

"One of the first things I did when we got on the Waverider was ask Gideon about the risks of time travel," he said. "And the  _most_ dangerous thing you can do is to leave the time ship while in the timestream."

He paused, leveling her with his stare. "Sara, my life isn't worth yours."

A flash of lightning splashed across the room, punctuating his words, and the ringing they left in her ears.

"That's not something you get to decide." She was seething, her words practically a growl. "You don't know what it was like," she continued. "You weren't there. I – we – grieved you. I knew what I was doing. I'd do it again."

"No."

The word was hard and angry, the scowl on his face unrelenting.

"You're really mad at me," she said, letting out a huff of a laugh. "For saving your life?"

"You're mad at  _me_  for saving Mick," Leonard countered, his voice rising with each word. "For saving the whole damn team, the whole damn world! And I thought you  _d_ _on't even like me_."

"Bullshit."

It was Sara's turn to feel like she'd been slapped. So she'd said that, once, when they were freezing to death. It didn't make it even one iota true, and he knew it.

"I can't believe you," she hissed. "Only Leonard fucking Snart could pick a fight over having his life saved, because someone  _cares_ about him – god forbid –"

"Wait."

He cut her off, his voice suddenly and dangerously quiet. "Where did you get that?"

Sara froze. She realized, in her frustration, that she'd been waving her hand at him. And he was staring at it.

Specifically, at his ring. That she was wearing.

"I planted that on Mick," Leonard continued, pointing at it. He would've seemed angrier, if his hand hadn't been trembling, just slightly.

She drew her own hand to her chest, defensively. "He gave it to me."

She wanted to tear the ring off and throw it at him, but stopped when she saw the look on his face.

His eyebrows were furrowed, a little crinkle in his forehead giving away just how unbelievable he was finding all of this. His eyes darted to the floor and away, searching the air for understanding, only for his shoulders to slump as he found none.

A lump rose in her throat, and she couldn't explain. Not about the nineties, not if he didn't remember. Not about the comfort Mick had given her, when she'd fallen apart in her grief. How could she tell him about it now?

So she turned away, busying herself with a clothing rack instead. She pushed the hangers aside with perhaps a touch more violence than necessary, angry pulse still throbbing under her skin.

For a minute, Leonard just stood there. In the darkness, all she could see was his silhouette in profile: arms folded, head tilted down.

Defeated.

"Okay, yeah, I was mad," Sara admitted, finally.

His eyes flashed in the shadows, watching her, waiting.

"I was mad you were gone," she said. "I was mad you were never coming back. I was mad I lost you. Okay?" She took a deep breath. "It's not my fault if you can't handle that."

Sara stepped around the rack, bringing herself close enough to see his face – and for him to see hers.

"When I found out you might still be alive, I would've done anything to get you back. Anything," she repeated, her voice almost breaking. But she recovered it quickly, her temper still burning inside her. "If that's uncomfortable for you?" she asked, harshly. "Too. Damn. Bad."

Leonard was quiet for a few moments, considering her. She was sure he would speak, then, sure he would say something – anything – to her declaration.

But he just turned and walked away.

Sara snorted.  _Coward_. She picked up a dress, just to slam it back onto the metal rack. Her heart was racing. This wasn't what she'd expected, but what  _had_  she expected?

_You think I wanted to miss this? I'm not done with you._

That's what future Leonard had said, right before he'd kissed her.

Maybe, somehow, she'd messed up the timeline, and that version of Leonard was gone forever. Or maybe she'd just forgotten what an ass he was. Maybe she'd made a huge mistake in mourning him in the first place.

A hand tapped her shoulder, and she started.

There was Leonard, a hanger perched on a single finger. On it was a red cocktail dress, detailed with patterns of gold lace and fringe. It was beautiful, annoyingly so, since he'd found it.

When she dragged her eyes away from the dress to meet Leonard's gaze, he was staring back with intensity, his mouth a thin line. He sighed.

"Give me a beat to process all this, okay?" he murmured.

He let the hanger slide off his finger into her waiting hand.

"You've had almost four months," he said. "At least give me a few hours."

Well. She hadn't considered that.

Sara turned without a word and retreated to a dressing room, all her anger gone, replaced by guilt. It was true that she'd had a lot more time to think things over – and the chance to meet two other versions of him.

The last time Leonard had seen her was...

The Oculus.

Unlike her, he had no other memories to use as a buffer between then and now. All she could remember from that moment was the adrenaline, the desperation...and, the regret.

Probably nothing compared to how he'd felt, about to die with her kiss lingering on his lips, so many words that should've passed between them unspoken.

_You think I wanted to miss this? I'm not done with you._

Sara allowed herself a reprieve from these thoughts as she extricated herself from the Atom suit, sighing in relief to be free of it.  _How does Ray get in and out of this so quickly?_

She was glad she'd convinced Ray to show her how to shrink it down – she had no idea how they'd have hidden it otherwise. Once that was taken care of, the suit safely stored in its little egg container, Sara turned back to the dress.

She ran her fingers over the sheer material of the bodice, the fine gold lace accents soft under her touch. There was no way she could wear a bra with it, she decided, dropping hers in the pile with her other clothes before stepping into the dress.

It had a red, silk slip covering her from her breast to her knees, leaving most of her chest, shoulders and neck exposed or under short sleeves of sheer, red mesh. The material clung to her curves, drop waist style hugging her body past her hips, the gold fringe at the hem fanning out around her when she moved. She'd never been much of a fan of flapper dresses, but there was something sexy about this one, and the way she looked in it. She thought so, anyway, idly wondering what Leonard's opinion would be.

He had picked it out, after all.

As entranced as she was by the dress, Sara was flummoxed by what felt like hundreds of buttons making up the back. She struggled with them, managing a few before she was forced to admit defeat.

She slid open the curtain of the little dressing room to find Leonard waiting for her, mostly dressed himself. He was wearing a crisp white collared shirt under a black suit coat and pants, an undone tie hanging loose around his neck. A black fedora perched on the clothing rack next to him.

He straightened at the sight of her, brow raising and eyes wandering over her body before he could catch himself.

Sara couldn't help but smile a little, since she felt much the same about the sight of him – he always looked too dashing in a suit. She closed the distance between them, heart racing as she did, watching the careful mix of reverence and lust darkening his eyes.

"Could you help me?" she turned around, motioning to the buttons at her back.

She tried to calm the flutter in her stomach, the stutter of her heart as she felt him step close to her, his body heat warm on her open back. He hesitated only a moment before starting on her dress, undoing the buttons she'd managed to mess up and putting them right.

"For the record," he murmured, his voice low and rough in her ear, "I am glad to be alive." He fastened a few more buttons, fingers sending shivers down her spine as they brushed against her skin.

"I'm very glad," he added, softly, "to see you again."

Her breath hitched as he moved her hair out of the way, fingers teasing at her neck. He finished the last of the buttons, but his hands lingered between her shoulder blades for too many tense heartbeats.

"But I never wanted you to get hurt," he said. "And if I'd been there, I would've told you not to risk it."

Sara spun around, her eyes finding Leonard's, his face even closer to hers than she'd expected. She tilted her chin up, giving him nowhere to look but at her.

"But you weren't there," she said, wrapping her hands around the ends of his tie, keeping him from pulling away. "If you had been, I wouldn't have had to risk it."

His mouth curved down in a frown, but he didn't argue.

"And for the record," Sara continued, working at his tie, giving herself an excuse to break their eye contact. "I've died before. I know what that's like." She tugged at the fabric, adjusting the knot before she met his eyes again. "I would have died a thousand times for just the  _chance_  to have this moment, right now."

She didn't know where the words had come from, or where she'd found the courage to say them, but they were true, and she wouldn't take them back.

Leonard's mouth parted, in surprise, or about to say something, she wasn't sure – when a sudden crash of thunder rocked through the building, hard as a small explosion.

Sara started, jumping forward. It took a moment for the sound to fade, before she realized her hands were splayed wide on Leonard's chest, her head tucked into his collar, her body pressed against his. For his part, his hands were resting on her hips, holding her steady and secure.

"A lot's changed, since you've been gone," she said, quietly, leaning back just enough to see his face.

"I'm starting to get that."

Leonard dipped his head down, his eyes dropping to her mouth, and for one golden second, she thought he would kiss her.

And then another rumble of thunder rolled through the showroom, and the moment was gone. He released her, taking a step back.

"I've got a good idea of where we can find some trouble, if you're still up for it," he said, just the slightest hitch to his voice.

Sara nodded, trying to calm her heart and ignore the rush of disappointment settling in her stomach.

It was too soon anyway, she told herself, after everything. They needed to focus on getting home, and then they could figure this out, whatever it was, between them.

He nodded as well, maybe thinking the same, as he reached for his fedora and placed it on his head. Sara wondered when she'd ever found a hat on a man so sexy before.

She shook herself and wandered away from him then, in search of shoes and a little makeup. And as she did, she reminded herself that all the banter and flirting – everything unresolved between them –  _could_  be resolved, now. They had that chance, if they'd only take it.

She swore she would. Soon, if not now. She wasn't sure how much longer she could wait.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a little belated, but thank you so much to everyone who voted for this story in the CCA's! This work has been such a labor of love, and it means so much to me that you guys have enjoyed it so far. Every comment you've left, every kudo and subscribe - each and every one has put a smile on my face. I hope you'll continue to enjoy this - even if it takes me forever to update sometimes, I promise I will finish it! Finally, I want to dedicate this chapter to my friend, ClaudiaRain. If it weren't for her encouragement, I would have never published this, and I'm so glad I did. Thank you so much for always being there for me!

_**Central City – October 26, 1929** _

Everything before came in flashes.

Shouts and gunfire. Time bastards falling before him. Rip's orders, ignored. Mick's hand on a bomb. The drop in his stomach, knowing what would come next. But there was no other choice.

Those moments were frozen in his mind now.

The look on Sara's face when she found him, when she realized she couldn't do anything about it.

_No._

Lips on his. Sara's blue eyes, round and wondering as she pulled back from their kiss. The sparks lighting a halo around her face, just before she turned away.

Last words.

An explosion of blue and white.

After.

He'd never thought there'd be an after, but here he was.

And yet, the world was…skipping. Or maybe Leonard was, because Sara didn't seem to notice. He swallowed back another wave of nausea and focused on her face.

"Think we can find a little trouble in there?" she asked, nodding to the spot they'd been watching for the past fifteen minutes. It'd been even easier to find than Leonard had hoped – granted, he had a good working knowledge of all the traditionally criminal parts of town and an excellent sense for danger. The door opened, spilling out light, music and laughter as a couple emerged, stumbling into the night.

"We could find trouble anywhere," Leonard said. "Shouldn't take too long in a speakeasy."

With a nod, they headed for the door. It was just a few feet, but it felt like a mile for him – it was an effort just to stand, just to walk. From his first moment of awareness that evening, Leonard had felt like he'd been steam-rolled, tossed through a blender and spit out on the other side without even half a hope of surviving. It didn't seem right that he still had any of his limbs, and none of them felt quite attached to his body. His stomach was holding its own rebellion against him, and  _damn_ , his head was pounding.

And yet, the most unsettling part of it all was the way Sara kept looking at him. Like he was something lost, found. Like all she needed in the world was just to see him, and now she had everything.

He didn't deserve that. And hell if he knew what to do about it. All he knew was how much better he felt the nearer he was to her.

But that was a different set of problems entirely.

"I could get used to this," he said, looking out at the riotous crowd of the speakeasy. It was a good thing that trouble was the agenda of the evening – because that was just the kind of distraction Leonard needed.

"Could be worse," Sara agreed, flashing him a wink and pulling him down the stairs toward the waiting crowd below. He wasn't sure when his arm had found its way around hers, but he was glad for it as they entered and dozens of curious eyes flashed their way, blinking with interest.

"Hope they're ready for us," Sara added, just as a waiting attendant helped her out of her coat. Leonard felt the wave of attention shift directly to her, and he let himself take her in, too.

She was radiant.

It caught him off guard for a moment, tilting his world. And no one else in the club mattered – the fact that they were trapped in 1929 didn't matter – or how hours ago, he'd died, and then, been stitched back together – none of it mattered. All he could see was her, and all he could think was how glad he was to just be in the reflection of her light.

Eventually, he realized he was staring, because Sara caught him at it. She was wearing a smug little smile, even more alluring than that little red dress.

"Coming?" she asked, tugging at his hand. He nodded, swallowing at his suddenly dry mouth before following her into the crowd, his skin warm at her touch.

Most of the partygoers were lively and boisterous, red faces swaying in time with the music and dancers threatening to knock over anyone who happened within a few feet of their path. But Leonard noticed a restless sort of unease in the air, too. There was a morose sense of anticipation on their faces, hints of worry clouding over them even as they danced and drank and laughed. They knew, Leonard realized, thinking of the stock market crash that was about to change their lives forever.

Maybe it fueled a sense of urgency in them, too, to spend this night even more furiously than they would've. Many of them seemed a little crazed, hands roving openly over dance partners, women dressed in little more than nightclothes sitting on men's laps, skin showing everywhere, lovers touching and kissing and not caring who saw.

The chaos of it all was a fitting setting for Leonard, considering he still had no idea what was really happening to him. He rubbed at his pounding forehead with his free hand, then drew it down in front of his face. It was hard to forget the light that had sprung from his fingertips, threatening to erase him from existence. Everything had been normal since then though – as normal as being stuck in 1929 could be, for time travelers.

"Now what?" Sara asked, stopping just shy of the bar. "We don't have any money."

"Don't we?" he countered, drawing a billfold out of his pocket and flashing it at her.

She rolled her eyes, but he didn't miss the amusement in them.

"Who'd you liberate that from?"

He smirked at the hint of admiration in her sarcasm.

"Trust me, he didn't notice."

No one in this crowd would notice a wandering hand, Leonard thought, glancing around in the dim light of dusky lamps and candles. They were too busy engaging in one vice or another. It was getting late in the evening – or early in the morning, perhaps – and most of the people here seemed to have been drinking for hours. The smell of smoke and booze and sweat filled the air around them, and heat from the crowded bodies had Leonard tugging at his tie. The croon of brass instruments buzzed along with the jazzy riffs of a piano, but he could barely hear the music above the din of loud voices, laughter and the tinkle of clinking glasses all clamoring for attention.

"Probably not," Sara admitted, taking in the scene herself. "Well then… You wanna get a drink?"

Leonard raised his eyebrows and nodded to the bar. "Please."

Sara pushed through the last wall of people and Leonard followed, gesturing for her to take the open barstool while he stood beside her, reaching an arm around the back of her chair and blocking her from the other men jostling for a place at the bar.

She smirked, watching him knowingly. "I think you should teach me how to pick pockets," she said conversationally, setting her clutch down on the bar.

She didn't bother calling for a bartender – the two that Leonard could see had their hands full, but they'd find Sara as soon as they were free, he had no doubt about that.

Sara was unlike any woman in the bar. She looked more like a gypsy than a flapper, with her tousled hair falling in loose waves around her shoulders – only the black, jeweled headband wrapped around her forehead gave any nod to the hair style of the time. She was barely wearing any makeup, a refreshing change next to the women all dolled up around her. Sara didn't need cosmetics for her blue eyes to shine brighter than any light in the room. Then there was her red dress, drawing stark attention to her milky skin, and, of course, the cut of her neckline, pointing an arrow to the beginnings of cleavage beneath. Leonard had far too generous of a view of it from this angle. He took a breath, forcing his eyes to stay on hers.

"And give up the tricks of my trade?" He matched her smirk with one of his own. "Sorry. Don't think so."

"I'll show you where I'm hiding my weapon," she offered, eyes sparkling.

"We don't have any weapons," he said, titling his head in confusion. The realization made him miss the comforting weight of his cold gun.

"I do," she countered. "I hid a knife in a compartment of the Atom suit."

Of course. Only Sara would think a knife was necessary for a recovery mission.

"I didn't know the Atom suit had any compartments," he said.

"It has one," she said, that smug little smile returning to her lips. "The suit has a lot of secrets. I got Ray to show them all to me."

The way she said it, with just a tinge of innuendo, left Leonard feeling inexplicably jealous of Ray.

 _Palmer,_ he scoffed, to himself.  _As if._ The other man would gloat for  _days_ if he ever found out that Leonard had felt jealous of him, however briefly.

"I've seen where you keep your weapons," Leonard shrugged. For a moment, he had to push away an all-too vivid memory of Sara removing her weapons one by one, in the sticky heat of a Russian banya in 1985. "No trade," he added, voice rougher than he meant it to be.

"Fine," Sara said. "If you can guess exactly where I'm keeping  _this_ one, I'll drop it. But if you can't…" She wiggled her eyebrows in challenge.

Well. He never could back down from a dare.

"One guess," Sara clarified, sternly holding up a finger.

Leonard nodded, taking a deep breath as he stood back, assessing Sara's outfit. It was far too convenient of an excuse to drink her in the way he really wanted to, even as he tried to keep his gaze to a simple, critical examination. It was impossible, with the way the dress clung to her body, painting her curves in red and flecks of gold. The fringe at the hem drew tantalizing attention to her legs, and he found himself staring, considering her skin and not where a weapon might be hiding on it.

He forced his eyes back to her face. She was smirking again, of course, a teasing and self-satisfied curve to her lips as she drummed her fingers against the bar.

"Well?" she prompted.

Leonard cleared his throat, eyes flicking back to her legs against his will.

"At your thigh," he guessed. "Tucked in a garter."

In that dress, he couldn't think of anywhere else she might be able to keep or easily reach a knife, but she'd certainly surprised him before.

"Nope," she said, grinning.

"Bullshit."

Sara preened, shrugging. "I'll prove it," she said, taking his hand in hers. She tugged him closer, so close that his free arm tightened on the back of the barstool for support. Before he knew what was happening, she guided his hand to her knee, and then under the fabric of her dress, sliding it along the smooth side of her thigh.

"See?" she murmured into his ear, her warm breath sending shivers down his spine.

He rubbed a thumb across her skin without thinking, more than a little pleased with himself when the small caress made  _her_  shiver, too.

"It's on the other one, then," he argued, but his words were soft in her ear.

"Check it," she breathed, her lips brushing against his skin as she spoke.

"With pleasure," he said, and she released her hold on his hand. He leaned away a bit at that, enough to look in her eyes as he shifted his hand to her other knee. She didn't break eye contact as he ran his fingers up, and up. Despite her steady gaze, he heard her breath catch, and felt his own breathing turn ragged. Her skin was cool under his touch, but turned hot after a moment, and he found his thumb once again rubbing small circles on her upper thigh.

"Damn," he swore. It was a curse both for losing the bet – and for how suddenly he needed his hands to be everywhere on her, to be out of this seedy bar and alone with her, with all the time in the world to unbutton this wicked dress and strip it off her.

Leonard slipped his hand back, not trusting himself to leave it anywhere near her skin.

"Where is it, then?" he asked, finally, when he found himself once again capable of speech.

She smirked,  _again_ , the minx, and plucked her clutch off the bar. She undid the clasp, opening it just a peek to show him a glimmer of steel within.

"That's cheating," he grumbled.

"I never said it was on my body," she said, far too pleased with herself. "Now," she prompted. "Pick pocketing…"

Leonard grudgingly reviewed the basics with her – how to choose a mark, the importance of distraction, when to make the move.

"Okay," she said, after a few minutes of listening. "I think I'm ready."

"What?" he balked, as she abruptly jumped from her chair.

"I need to practice, obviously," she explained, brushing by him before he could stop her.

Helplessly, he watched her weave through the crowd alone. It wasn't long, though, before she bumped into another patron, causing a small commotion that involved at least two drinks being spilled and one portly man falling on his ass.

"Showy," he muttered under his breath, as she professed apologies to the man on the ground, helping him up with much greater use of her hands than was necessary. The man blustered, flushing as Sara rested a hand on his chest and whispered something in his ear. She fanned herself and winked when she finally retreated, leaving the poor man stammering and mopping at his forehead with a handkerchief.

"How was that?" she asked, breathlessly, pushing back through the crowd to her seat at the bar. Her eyes were as bright as her smile when she slipped him another billfold to add to their stash.

"The point isn't to cause a scene," he grumbled.

"Isn't it?" she countered, turning back to the bar and finally hailing a bartender.

"What can I getcha?" the bartender asked, bustling off again as soon as Sara ordered.

Leonard didn't even catch what she asked for. He did notice, though, a relief to the pounding in his head as she leaned against him, elbows resting on the bar as she waited for her drink. He hadn't realized until she returned, but he'd felt worse during her brief absence. He wrapped his arm back around her chair, then, changing his mind, slipped it around her shoulders instead, resting his palm flat on the bar beside her arms.

Sara looked up at him, settling back against his arm, and her cheeks dimpled as she smiled. He felt himself smiling back, despite himself, despite everything. And he found himself thinking, if they were never rescued from the twenties…it wouldn't be the worst thing.

"Alright, here you are," the bartender said, returning with two identical glasses filled with amber liquid. "What brings you in?" he asked then, studying them for a moment. "This ain't the best place to hide an affair, if that's what you're after," he added. "Everyone here talks."

"Affair?" Sara asked, confusion tugging up at the word.

"Well," the bartender drawled, "you got a ring, and he don't. Just figured." He pointed at Sara's hand, where she wore Leonard's old ring.

"We're newlyweds," Leonard snapped, arm reflexively wrapping a little tighter around Sara. "We eloped with an old family heirloom. Haven't had a chance to get our own matching set." Leonard had no idea what it was about the man's words that had set his temper flaring, but they had, and he struggled to snub the fuse. "Thanks for the advice, anyhow." He placed a large bill on the bar, hoping that would defuse any tension.

The bartender just shrugged, unperturbed, adding a lemon twist each to their drinks. "Congratulations," he said, conversationally. "How'd you meet?"

"Mutual friends," Sara inserted, raising her eyebrows as she glanced back at Leonard.

"They weren't all 'friends,'" Leonard muttered.

Sara rolled her eyes, swatting at Leonard's chest. "My husband doesn't get along well with many people."

The bartender nodded knowingly as Leonard swallowed back his heart, which had leapt uncomfortably into his throat at Sara's casual use of the word  _husband._

"This ain't the best place for someone like that, neither," the bartender said, leaning forward conspiratorially. "Joey Falzone and his gang like to hang out here. Don't wanna get on the wrong side of one of them." He lifted his eyebrows meaningfully. "Have a nice evening though," he added, leaning back and swiping Leonard's cash before going on to help someone else.

"Interesting," Sara said, sipping at her drink. She scowled as she swallowed. "For an Old Fashioned, this doesn't taste like an Old Fashioned at all," she said, holding it up to the light and eyeing it skeptically.

Leonard tasted his own drink, choking back the taste of rubbing alcohol. "Who knows what kind of hooch this is," he agreed.

"Also," Sara added, taking another sip anyway, "thanks for letting me know that we're married."

Leonard coughed on his drink, setting it aside for good. "I improvised," he said, defensively.

"It was awfully protective of you," she said, studying him. "You didn't have to defend my honor. We could've let him think we were having an affair – not like anyone here would've cared."

"You're wearing  _my_ ring." He reached out reflexively for it at the words, taking her hand in his and rubbing his thumb along the metal edge. "Ever going to tell me about that?" he added, noting the way her breath caught at the question.

Her eyes hid from him, staring down into the depths of her drink. "Mick gave it to me."

"So you said." Leonard ducked his head down, bringing his face level with Sara's. "Why?"

He waited, refusing to move out of her space until she finally raised her eyes up to meet his.

"I wasn't eating," she mumbled, her knuckles turning white as she clutched her drink. He tightened his grip on her hand in response. "I hadn't left my room in days. Ray and Mick came to snap me out of it, and…" she trailed off, and Leonard could  _feel_ her leaving things out of this story, but he couldn't press her on it, not with the pain so visible behind her eyes. "I tried to give it back," she said, and he heard echoes of desperation in the words. "But Mick said it looked better on my hand than in his pocket. And," she drew in a deep breath, letting it out before continuing. "He said that you would've wanted me to have it, anyway."

Leonard swallowed, his jaw ticking as he remembered Sara's words from the department store.

 _You don't understand,_ she'd said.  _I – we – grieved you._

For  _months_ , they'd grieved him.

His heart sank at the thought of it, and an ache settled heavy in his stomach.

"He was right," Leonard murmured, eventually, and this time he was the one to drop his eyes. "I did want you to have it. But not like that."

He'd imagined giving it to her so many times. Considered it an inevitability that she would wear it someday – after all, he'd seen it on her, so many years ago. Not that she knew that, but he'd known. He'd known, and he'd planned, and he'd waited for the perfect moment.

But the thought of her receiving it from his partner in his absence, wearing it in grief…

It cut him, belly deep. It was an outcome he hadn't planned for, and more than anything, he wished he could change it. Not that he'd make a different choice – he couldn't have let Mick die at the Oculus. But maybe he shouldn't have waited so long to turn everything he'd wanted with Sara into a reality.

What was he waiting for now?

"Do you want to dance, Sara?" he said, suddenly.

He met her eyes again, watching as surprise, and then pleasure, flashed through them.

"I thought you'd never ask."

* * *

Leonard jostled his way through the tight crowd around the bar, Sara's hand small and warm in his as she followed. Somewhere in the back of the bar was a band, and he headed for it, the piano tune floating through the air and coming into focus as they approached. Slowly, the crowd began to thin, and Leonard spotted an empty space that he and Sara could occupy. He set his sights on it, moving forward with determination, not realizing when a man stepped into his path –

"Oof."

Leonard stopped short, little stars pricking at his vision from where his head had collided with the stranger's.

"Watch it," Leonard growled, massaging his temples.

"Ray?" Sara asked, suddenly beside him.

"Sorry?" the stranger replied, in a startlingly familiar voice.

Leonard forced his eyes open. In front of him was the spitting image of – "Palmer?"

"Yes," Palmer said. "Do I know you?"

"Ray Palmer?" Sara repeated. "It's Sara and Leonard."

"Oh, you must be friends of my brother's," Palmer said. "I'm Robert. We do look quite alike. Apologies for the confusion."

Sara leaned in to Leonard. "This must be one of Ray's ancestors," she whispered. "It was our mistake," she added, for Palmer's benefit. Leonard was speechless, too startled by the uncanny likeness of their friend. Not so many hours ago, he'd thought he'd never see him again.

Leonard looked the man up and down. He was dressed to the nines in a full tux, complete with a hat and gloves. Now that his head was clearing, Leonard could see a few subtle differences in this man's features from Ray's. He had the same goofy smile though, and he flashed it at them now.

"How do you know Raymond?" Palmer asked, taking a sip of his drink.

"Work," Sara supplied, vaguely.

"You work with my brother?" Palmer asked, eyeing her skeptically. Leonard supposed it wasn't era-appropriate for a woman to work in whatever high-class industry the Palmers clearly moved in.

"In a manner of speaking," Sara said smoothly, not missing a beat.

"Oh." Palmer blinked, his eyes roving over Sara with a new interest. Leonard's head snapped to Sara himself. He felt a frown tugging at his lips as he raised his eyebrow to her in question.

She flashed him her signature,  _I've got this_ , smile, before turning back to Palmer.

"Are you interested in that kind of endeavor, Mr. Palmer?" she asked, batting her eyelashes.

"My," Palmer stuttered. "Raymond said you city women were bold!" He laughed nervously, exactly the way Ray would've, Leonard thought, struggling not to glare at the man.

"Well," Sara said, leaning in conspiratorially, "there's a girl in the corner who's been watching you. She looks like a nice young lady, if that's more what you're interested in." Sara pointed off to the side, where a petite brunette was indeed watching Palmer. She smiled coyly and looked away as Palmer turned toward her.

"My," Palmer repeated, this time with an air of awe. "You know, just between us, this is my first time ever in a speakeasy."

"Never would've guessed," Leonard muttered.

"I didn't expect it to be this fun!" Palmer continued, grinning. "If you'll excuse me." He pointed at the brunette. "It was nice to meet you."

"Likewise," Sara agreed, waving goodbye.

"New plan," Leonard said, as the man left. "We kill Raymond's ancestor. That'll get their attention on the Waverider."

Sara rolled her eyes, but smiled at him. "You know," she said, conversationally, "if it hadn't been for Ray, I think Kendra and I might've hooked up in the fifties. Technically, I think he's saved our lives a few times too."

Leonard sighed dramatically. "Fine, we don't touch Ray's ancestor. But you know how difficult this is for me."

She nodded sympathetically, wrapping an arm around his. "Weren't we about to dance?"

"Yes," Leonard agreed, letting Sara lead him to the empty spot of dance floor he'd been eyeing before Palmer's ancestor had so annoyingly interrupted them.

Sometime during their conversation with Palmer, the music had slowed to a more romantic pace – and that suited Leonard's plans just fine. He looked up just as a curvy woman stepped out on the stage with the band. She sidled up to the microphone and began to sing, her voice low and plaintive, swelling in time with the piano.

"You were awfully quiet back there," Sara said, stepping easily between his arms.

"Yeah, well," Leonard hedged, dropping a hand to Sara's waist, while the other captured hers. "For a second there, I was actually…happy to see Ray."

"Big of you to admit," Sara smiled, resting her free hand on his shoulder. "You know, he'll be thrilled to see you. Don't try to deny it," she added, stopping his protests. "I saw the videos. I know all about your weird friendship."

"Videos?" Leonard asked. He was surprised he could even form words, with the way she was staring up at him while they swayed, her eyes shining.

"Ray showed me some of your video logs," she elaborated. "From the ship. I'm surprised you let him give you love advice."

Leonard started, almost tripping in place.  _I'm going to kill Palmer_ , he thought, trying to remember exactly what he'd said about Sara on those videos. If she'd heard any "love advice", it could've only been about her. But she was still smiling, and she was here, dancing with him, so...

"He's meddlesome. But you knew that," Leonard said, skirting around the issue. "Why'd he show them to you?"

"It was such a long shot that we might save you," Sara said, pressing a little closer against him at the words. "I was afraid to hope." She dropped her eyes to the side, staring into the crowd. "Our friend Ray didn't want me to give up on you." She swallowed, shifting her eyes back to Leonard's. "He wanted to make sure that, if I got a second chance – if  _we_  got a second chance – that we'd take it."

Leonard felt his hand wrap around Sara's back, drawing her in protectively. For a moment, he was back there, at the Oculus, feeling her pull away, not being able to do a damn thing about it. His chest still ached from the loss of it.

 _We were supposed to have everything_ , he'd thought. And then…

"Those last few moments," he murmured, "all I could think about was everything we didn't have."

Sara let go of his hand, slipping both arms around his neck and drawing his face closer to hers. "What do you think I spent the last three months thinking about?"

Leonard dropped his forehead, letting it rest against Sara's.

"I left you to die," she whispered, her voice cracking on the last word. She took his face in her hands, her thumbs stroking lightly against his cheeks.

"No," he said. "You saved my friend. You did what I asked. And now..." His hands tightened on her hips. "Now I'm here. Because of you."

She took a shuddering breath. "It wasn't just me."

They swayed for a few beats, but the music and laughter of the crowd had faded from Leonard's ears. All he could hear was her breathing, and the sound of his own heart pounding through his chest.

"My point," he said, slipping his forehead down just slightly, "is that I'm here." His nose nudged against hers. "With you."

She nodded, closing her eyes and biting her lip, like there was something else she wanted to say. Leonard waited, afraid for a heartbeat that she would draw away. But then she was tugging his face down, erasing the last bit of space between them, dragging his mouth to meet hers.

It was a moment he'd needed too much for too long, and he didn't hesitate to take it. He let himself sink into it, wrapping his arms around her and drawing her even closer. He let it open up a hole in him, an empty pit that only she had ever been able to fill. And he needed her to fill it, with an endless kind of needing – the kind that had waited endlessly for this moment, and now that it was here, refused to let it go.

That was the idea, anyway. But he'd barely begun when a shout raised up over the crowd, startling them back.

"On the house!" a woman cried, as waitresses rushed around with trays, handing out tumbled glasses each filled with an inch of amber liquid. In moments, such a tray was in front of Sara and Leonard.

"On the house," their waitress repeated, smiling wide and wiggling her eyebrows.

Sara laughed, tugging herself just free enough from Leonard's arms to take the glass offered to her. She swallowed back the drink, grimacing a bit as she returned the empty glass to its tray.

"Sir?" the waitress asked, offering the last drink to him.

"No thanks," Leonard drawled. After that kiss, he felt drunk enough as it was.

"Really?" The waitress's smile vanished. "But it's on the house. Rude not to take it," she added, pushing the drink forward.

"I said,  _no thanks_." Leonard snarled, glaring at the woman. She started at whatever she saw in his face, scampering away without another word.

"Did you have to terrorize her?" Sara asked. "It's just her job."

Leonard turned back to her, his gaze softening. "I don't like being interrupted."

Sara smirked. "Me, either," she said, running her hands up his chest. "Especially not in the middle of one hell of a kiss."

Leonard opened his mouth to speak – when he felt a strange hand clap on his shoulder.

"Well hello, Johnny," a man said.

Leonard swerved to come face-to-face with a gangster – there was no doubt about that. The man was average build, with average features, but there was a stoniness in his expression that spoke of a rap sheet a mile long. Leonard had seen that look on only the coldest men he'd worked with.

"I think you've mistaken me for someone else," Leonard said, stilling as he watched three other men approach, surrounding him and Sara on all sides.

"That's funny," the first man said, not smiling at all. "You shouldn't have come here."

Leonard sized up the men. They were all armed, while he and Sara had one knife between the two of them. Probably still an uneven fight – for the gangsters.

"I'm Sara, and this is Leonard," Sara tried, a valiant attempt to keep things from escalating.

"Cute covers, Amelia," another man said, flashing her a grimace of a smile. "Do you think we're stupid?"

"No," Leonard said quickly. "But this is a misunderstanding."

"Just like when you killed my father?" the first man asked. "I've been waiting to meet you ever since. Think it's time we had a little talk."

Leonard's stomach dropped. Of course. Of everyone he could resemble in 1929, he had to look like the man who killed this goon's father. "I didn't –"

"Why don't we take this outside?" the man cut him off. "No reason to upset everyone else's night."

"That won't be necessary," Leonard said. He risked a moment to look at Sara, expecting her to give him the signal to fight.

But she didn't.

Sara was swaying on the spot, her eyelids drooping and eyes crossing frighteningly. She grabbed at his arm, clutching it tightly for support.

"Leonard," she said through clenched teeth, "I think I was drugged."

The gangster smirked, a wicked slash across his face. "The lady needs some air," he said, as a gun pressed into Leonard's side. The man behind Sara nodded down to another barrel, pressed against Sara's back.

_Shit._

"Look," the gangster said, leaning in. "She doesn't have to die. If you come quietly, and tell us what we need to know about your boss, we'll let her go." The gangster patted Leonard's face mockingly. "More than you deserve, but I'm feeling generous tonight."

Sara fell against his chest, her breathing ragged. "Leonard," she slurred, "don't…"

But he didn't have a choice. These men wouldn't hesitate to kill them here and now if they didn't cooperate. If they left, maybe he could buy Sara enough time to sober up and get away.

"You're right," Leonard said. "Some air would be nice, wouldn't it?"

The gangster nodded, a predatory glint to his eyes. "Glad you see it my way."

The men led them out of the speakeasy, guns urging them forward. Sara clung to Leonard's side, protesting weakly even as he guided them out.

"If you get the chance to run, do it," Leonard whispered in her ear. "They want me, not you."

She gritted her teeth. "I won't…leave you again," she managed, taking heavy breaths between words.

"Take care of yourself," he insisted. "I can handle this."

Then the door opened, and rough hands pushed them outside. Leonard felt a splash of night air hit his face just before a black hood was thrown over his head. Something else hit his face, too. Something much, much harder.

He held on just long enough to hear Sara cry out for him – a word that could've torn his heart right from his chest.

But awareness slipped away then, nothing but water between his fingers, and there was nothing else after that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has several references to ClaudiaRain's story, In Full Swing. It was the first CC fic I read, and it made me fall in love with this pairing. If you've never read it, you should definitely check it out! In the meantime, more 20s fun to come in the next chapter - I hope you're enjoying it so far!


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stuck in the 1920s, Leonard and Sara find themselves captured, separated and confused after their run-in at the speakeasy. With a bad case of mistaken identities and gangsters out for their blood, forget getting back to the present- they just need to survive the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to everyone still reading this story and on this journey with me. If you are, I would love to hear from you! I always appreciate your comments - they keep me motivated and pushing to the finish line. Things are about to get a little crazy in this chapter... I hope you continue to enjoy this!

Leonard sank easily into the darkness. He felt so heavy, but the dark was heavier still, and he went willingly as it dragged him down below.

Eventually, he surfaced. He found himself stalking down the unlit hallway of an old safe house, loose floorboards whining beneath his feet. He was agitated, his heart thudding painfully, but he couldn't quite remember why.

_It can't be true,_ he was thinking.  _It can't be._

His hands traced the walls, shakily guiding him through the shadows to his drafty room.

_It can't be. It isn't._

The narrow space was empty except for a cot, and he couldn't even make it that far. He slid back against the wall, legs like lead dropping him to the cold floor. He felt like he was hiding. Like he was running from something. But the night was quiet, save for his own erratic breathing.

_It wasn't her,_ said the voice in his head.  _Stop fooling yourself._

That's when it all came back.  _Her._ Of course. And of course, it wasn't her.

But he had to be sure.

His shaking hands pulled out his wallet, numbly thumbing through it until he found what he was looking for: the old Polaroid picture from 1996.

_You should be embarrassed you kept this,_ the voice said.  _Just a worthless memento that belonged to an even more worthless boy._

Still, Leonard ran his thumb over the creases of it. He'd folded it so many times over the years, shoved it in books and boxes and for some reason, yesterday, this wallet. He still couldn't say why. He hadn't carried it on him for what, a decade? – he'd long believed the woman in the photo was dead, not so much a memory as a ghost.

Until tonight, when he saw her on that rooftop. Surrounded by strangers, he'd been drawn to her familiar face.

_It's you._

She'd only met his eyes for a moment, turned away without recognizing him. But he knew, in an instant, he knew.

_I found you._

Leonard reached in his pocket for a matchbox, then cursed as his trembling hands wasted three matches before he finally had light.

There was a strange swelling in his stomach as he stared at the photo.

_It can't be. It's insane._

But the evidence was unmistakably before him.

_Sara._

There she was, hands cuffed behind her back, staring up at him like he was something worth looking at, leaning against his chest like she couldn't get close enough. Just how he remembered. And without a doubt, the same woman he'd seen tonight.

After all these years, as if not a day had passed for her.

_Shit_  – that bumbling, British buffoon had been telling the truth. Time travel was real. He was holding the proof.

_So what?_ His better judgement spoke up. It didn't matter that he'd finally solved the mystery of where – or rather, when – Sara had gone.

_She's nothing to you now._

So why did her voice still whisper in his mind?

_I believe anyone can change their fate. I have to believe it._

No. He hadn't thought about her in years. And she hadn't spared him a second glance tonight.

_It's over._

He held the match to the photo, ready to burn it. To release it. Finally.

And yet...

_Anyone. Even me?_

For a moment, he was there with her in that jail cell again, her blue eyes watching him. Knowing him. She was in his arms again, his hands tangled in her hair, her lips on his neck as she tugged him closer. Wanting him.

_Especially you._

Destiny. Fate. He'd believed in it all with her. She'd made him believe.

A loose branch rattled the window, breaking him out of his trance.

_Fate?_ He scoffed.  _More like bullshit._ It'd been a long time since Leonard killed the boy he'd been that day. Now, it was time to bury him.

He let the flame touch the corner of the photo. Its light pooled over the details, casting the memory in harsh relief. Leonard's eyes drank it in one last time, remembering despite himself. Smoke rose as the film began to burn.

That's when Leonard noticed –

_The ring_.

Sara had been wearing a ring that day. One that looked remarkably like his. Identical to it, actually.

If time travel was real…

What if the ring  _was_  his?

It hit him like a punch to the gut, stealing his breath away. The woman he'd met tonight hadn't recognized him. Hadn't been wearing a ring like his.

He shook the match out, stunned, staring at the photo in the dark as smoke whisped before him, then vanished into the night.

_Especially you..._

But the Sara he met in 1996… She  _knew_ him. Instantly. Unlike almost anyone in his life ever had.

_How?_

If it was his ring, she'd been wearing it like a wedding band. He couldn't get the image of it out of his mind.

In the future – in his own future – what were they to each other?

Suddenly, he had to know. He had to know what made her look at him like he was everything, why she'd kissed him like it was the last thing she'd ever do.

_You're a fool,_ he told himself.  _She doesn't care about you. You're nothing to her._

But maybe he would be.

And Leonard knew he would get on that time machine to find out.

He had to.

The darkness shifted, then. Walls disappeared around him, and the photo faded from his hand. A hole opened in the emptiness before him, replacing darkness with glaring blue light.

And the light was alive, he realized. It reached out to him with arms like lightning, swatting and stretching into the space around him. It buzzed and crackled as it moved, almost like it was speaking. Calling to him.

Leonard remembered it. He remembered its warmth. He could feel it radiating in front of him, as the light grew and grew, surrounding everything. It made him as uneasy as he was comforted. It drew him in, closer, until he could see himself reflected in its surface. Behind him, the light stretched on forever.

But another voice called to him, too.

_Stay with me. Stay._

Sara…

He shuddered, jerking away, only for waiting tendrils to tease the back of his neck.

_You can't leave me again._

He struggled to answer her, but he couldn't reach her, couldn't speak, couldn't move. The light was blinding, it was everything, and he was nowhere, nothing. Suddenly, he couldn't even breathe.

_I would do anything to get you back._

Leonard summoned every fiber of his being to push away, even as he was pulled in deeper.

_Stay._

Sara's voice echoed around him. He clung to it, using it as his anchor.

_I believe anyone can change their fate. I have to believe it._

He focused only on her voice, blocking out the light, its buzz, its crackle and warmth. He was not part of it. It wouldn't take him like this.

_Especially you…_

All at once, he was released. Darkness returned, devouring the light like it had never been.

* * *

Awareness slipped back like a wave upon sand. There, then not, and there again.

"Boss, he's gone! He's  _gone_!"

"That bastard died on us?"

"Not dead. Gone."

"What do you mean,  _gone_?"

Voices floated in and out of Leonard's head. He groaned as pain came in and out, too.

"I mean, one second he was there, and the next he was gone. Disappeared!"

"If you let him escape, I'll kill you."

Leonard's eyes blinked open, breaking two bright slits into the darkness. Immediately he shut them, recoiling back from the throbbing it started in his head.

"No! I swear, I was watching him! There was a flash of light. Like lightning. And then…poof. He was just gone."

The voices grew louder. Closer. Leonard forced his eyes open again, squinting at the blurry shapes around him.

"You're a drunk. And a dead man."

A doorway materialized before him. Two figures entered through it, tilting in his vision until they snapped into focus.

"Or not," one said. "Scram, you idiot."

The other left. Leonard sucked in a shaky breath, watching as the first man came closer.

"Wake up, Johnny," he said.

"'M not…" Leonard slurred, cut off by a sharp slap to the face.

"Enough. You're a coward."

Leonard choked out a gasp and collapsed forward, only to realize he was seated in a chair, restrained with ropes around his chest and arms. He flexed his hands into fists where they hung behind his back, struggling to stay conscious.

"Better start talking while you still have a tongue."

Hot bile rose up Leonard's throat, but he pushed it back, focusing on his surroundings even as the world swayed around him.

There was a plain desk to his left. A workstation to his right. They were in a small room, maybe an office, but it lacked any windows. Just bare walls around them and stone floor beneath his feet. A naked bulb hung from the ceiling in front of his face, painting a ring of light around his chair. Leonard hung his head, cringing from the painful brightness.

"Look at me, scum."

The man grabbed the back of Leonard's collar, forcing his head up. Leonard studied him, watching as his face doubled and tripled, swimming in his vision before melting back to normal. He had an average face, blond scruff around his mouth his only distinguishing feature – except for the wild anger in his eyes.

_Oh,_ Leonard realized. It was the gangster who'd confronted him in the speakeasy – the one who'd drugged Sara and kidnapped them both, all because he believed Leonard killed his father.

"Joey Falzone?" he guessed, two wires miraculously connecting in his brain.

"No," said a voice from the doorway.

The gangster released Leonard, stepping back suddenly. They both turned to look at the newcomer.

"I'm Joey Falzone," he said.

Leonard frowned, the pit dropping out of his stomach as he studied the man. Tall, lanky frame, leaning casually against the wall. Trim black suit. A fedora, covering his face. Until he looked up. Until he met Leonard's eyes.

"You know me by a different name, of course." He pushed off the wall, taking slow, deliberate steps toward Leonard. His boyish features came into focus. Leonard knew them.

"You're dismissed," he added, shooing the gangster away with a lazy flick of his hand.

Then they were alone.

_Something is very wrong_.

Leonard realized he was shaking. Shaking at the sight of a man he knew, whose once warm, open face had turned hard and cold.

He placed his hands on the armrests of Leonard's chair, towering over him even as he leaned down.

"Barry Allen," he confirmed, voice barely a whisper. "I bet you thought you'd never see me again." His eyes gleamed with triumph, and hatred strong enough to make Leonard sick. "Well, here I am."

* * *

Sara's back screamed. Her legs and arms screamed too, in the moments she could feel them. Her jaw ached so badly her ears hurt. Somewhere behind it all, a mild buzzing muted the world around her. Despite all that, she couldn't rest. She wouldn't let herself.

"Stop moving," ordered a gruff male voice. Sara kept rocking back and forth just to defy it.

"I said,  _stop_ ," he growled, grabbing her by her hair and holding her in place. She felt a surprised shriek rip from her throat, muffled around her gag, and cursed herself for showing pain.

"Let her go!"

A woman's voice pierced through Sara's haze.

"Let her go, Sam," the woman repeated. This time, the order was low and threatening.

Sara groaned in relief as she was released. If only her hands were free to rub her aching head.

"You can leave now. Ralph will watch her." Dully, Sara registered the anger in the woman's voice – and the authority.

"I don't think so," Sara's captor grunted. "I have my orders. I only leave at the boss's say so."

"My word is as good as his," she argued.

"Not quite."

Sara took a few labored breaths, trying to pry her eyes open. She could feel sweat dripping down her back. Her face was on fire, burning hotter with every movement. The world spun around her, faster and faster until she thought she would puke. She stopped it, grasping at the thread of one thought:

_Leonard is in danger. I have to get free._

"Fine. Then Ralph will stay to make sure you keep your grubby paws off her," the woman said, her voice closer than before. "Now stand aside so I can speak to her."

The large presence at Sara's back vanished. The next thing she knew, gentle fingers were cupping her chin, moving her gag out of her mouth. Sara swallowed mercifully, then winced at her sore throat.

"Did you have to drug her?" the woman asked, more of that hot anger coloring her voice.

"Collateral damage. She'll be fine."

"Did you have to  _gag_  her?" the woman insisted.

"She wouldn't stop screaming for her boyfriend."

Cool hands cupped Sara's cheeks, and her eyes finally fluttered open. The woman's concerned face danced before her, and Sara sucked in a breath at the familiar sight.  _I must be dreaming._

"Iris?" she asked, voice a groggy croak.

"Yes," the woman sighed, mouth curving up into a sad smile. "It's me, Sara. I'm here."

"Her name's Amelia," said the goon.

"Not to me," Iris murmured, so only Sara could hear. "Mind your own damn business and get back," she called sharply to the others.

Sara's mind reeled, trying to understand, to remember the night's events, but her memories were all jumbled. There'd been a crash. Leonard. Dancing. A kiss. It was all a blur.  _Leonard._ She remembered that much.  _Leonard is in danger. I have to get free._

But Iris's face was warm and familiar and real as she kneeled before her.

"I'm so sorry," she said, rubbing tears Sara hadn't even felt from her eyes. "I wish you hadn't come here." Her voice turned pleading, sorrowful, and her face crumpled. "Why'd you have to come here?"

"We didn't," Sara mumbled. "We…" she drifted off, a wave of nausea and confusion slowing her thoughts.

"I don't blame you, you know," Iris said, tucking loose hairs behind Sara's ears. "I know you can't help who you love, or who your father is." She looked up at Sara, her brown eyes wide and imploring. "Just like I can't help who my father is. Or who I love."

"Of course," Sara slurred, the words rough on her dry tongue.

Iris nodded, her crinkled forehead smoothing. "Remember when we were in boarding school?" she asked suddenly. "When we dreamed about taking over for our fathers? We said we'd show all those men who thought we were weak. We'd show them all."

None of it made sense. Images flashed before Sara's eyes – an alley. A dress. The speakeasy – they were in the past. What was Iris doing in the past?

Her eyes drifted down, distantly. "But they're still in charge, Sara." A tear ran across her cheek, leaving behind a dark stain. "I hope you can forgive me."

"Forgive you?" Sara echoed. Something about the words snapped at Sara, jolting her thoughts.  _Leonard. Leonard is in danger._

"They won't hurt you," Iris said, ignoring the question. She reached into her pocket for a handkerchief, dabbing at her eyes. "They'll ransom you to your father. You're more valuable that way."

_I have to get free._

Sara fidgeted in her bindings. Her heart sank as she watched Iris fiddle with the handkerchief, frowning at the floor.

"What about Leonard?" Sara asked. "Where is he?"

Another tear slipped down Iris's cheek, and she ducked her head, avoiding Sara's gaze. "Why did you have to come here?" she whispered, clutching at Sara's bound hand. "I told you to stay far away."

_Leonard is in danger._

"What will happen to him?" Sara insisted. She gritted her teeth, forcing herself to ask the next question, even though she didn't know where it came from, and even though she dreaded the answer.

"Will they kill him?"

Iris finally met her eyes, licking a fresh tear from her lip.

"I think so."

* * *

Silence rang in Leonard's ears.

"Barry," he breathed, stunned.

"Why'd you come here, Len?" Barry asked. For a moment, there was something like sadness in his voice. Regret, even. For a moment, Leonard could see the Barry Allen he remembered.

Then he was gone.

"I didn't –"

Barry cut him off with a glare. "Were you taunting me?" he seethed, his face suddenly red. "Did you think you could laugh in my face and get away with it?"

Leonard's mind went blank, refusing to process what his eyes were seeing. He was imagining this. He had to be. It couldn't be –

Then Barry smacked him, a backhand to his jaw, leaving Leonard blinking back stars and swallowing pain that was all too real.

"Don't you have anything to say?" Barry demanded, circling Leonard's chair. "After everything you did?"

"Barry, I –"

"What?" Barry scoffed, grabbing Leonard by the chin. "Are you  _sorry_?" he spat, narrowing his eyes, not waiting for an answer. "I'm sure you are. I'm sure you're sorry you got caught." He paused, studying Leonard. "Johnny Cold," he muttered, his mouth twisting in disgust as he released him. "I can't believe I used to wish I could be just like you."

Leonard took a deep breath, trying to understand. Was something wrong with the timeline? Or had he just taken too many blows to the head?

Barry turned away, shaking his head in disappointment. "I should've known better. You've never cared about anyone but yourself."

"No," Leonard protested. Maybe that had been true, once, but not anymore. Why wouldn't Barry listen?

"No?" Barry mocked. Then he slipped back into rage. "You betrayed me!" he yelled, punching Leonard in the stomach. Leonard coughed, all the breath sucked out of him.

It took visible effort for Barry to calm himself. He straightened his coat, still breathing hard. "I trusted you," he hissed. "I would have  _died_  for you." He stared down at Leonard, nostrils flaring, his eyes hard and unforgiving. "You used me."

Leonard recoiled at the hurt in Barry's voice. Behind all that anger, he was just a boy whose hero had failed him.  _Leonard_  had failed him.

"Let me make it right," Leonard said, surprised to hear himself begging, surprised at how much he meant it. Barry Allen had always believed in him. He would've given Leonard a thousand chances, because he'd always seen the man Leonard could be.  _The man I am_ , he thought, defiantly.

"It's too late for that," Barry said, simply. For a moment, he held Leonard's gaze, and Leonard willed him to see the truth.  _You were always right about me. Believe that._

Barry's hands unclenched. He nodded, relaxing, coming to some unspoken decision, and Leonard's chest swelled with hope.  _Believe in me again._

Then Barry turned away.

"Julian," he called. "It's your turn."

The gangster from the speakeasy returned instantly, as if he'd been waiting just outside.

"You're finished with him?" Julian asked. The psychopath was  _excited_ , Leonard realized, pushing back nausea at the thought.

Barry's expression was blank as he replied.

"Yes."

Leonard's heart froze. "Barry," he said, shocked at his indifference. But it was like he'd never spoken.

Julian's mouth twisted into a cruel smile. "What about Amelia?"

Barry let out a surprised chuckled at that. "Amelia," he muttered. "We all wear our masks, don't we?" he asked, reflectively, more to himself than either of them. He took a breath, thinking. Then, "Unfortunately, we can't return her to her father," he said, still ignoring Leonard. "She'd only convince him to start a war over  _him_. Worthless as he is." Barry's eyes narrowed. "Better that Quentin believes they ran away together. He'll never know, if he never sees them again."

Leonard sucked in a sharp breath, his stomach churning.  _He can't mean_  –

"Just make it quick," Barry added, his voice flat. "For Iris's sake."

Julian smirked, his eyes glinting with anticipation. "And Cold?"

"I'll leave that up to you," Barry said. "He's already dead to me."

"Barry," Leonard called, frantically, as the man made to leave. "Do whatever you want to me, but please, don't kill Sara," he pleaded. "She's innocent. She had nothing to do with this."

Barry flinched, pausing, but didn't turn back. "Barry!" Leonard yelled, struggling at his restraints. " _Barry!_  Don't do this!"

But he was already gone.

Julian laughed – a hollow, empty sound. "It's just us, now," he said, sauntering closer to Leonard. "Finally."

"Are you going to kill me or kiss me?" Leonard spat, relieved to hear he could still manage some bite in his tone, even as he trembled with fear.  _Sara,_ he thought, desperately.  _They're going to kill her._ His mind raced. He had to get out of this, he had to get to her.

Julian sneered. "Considering I'm your judge and executioner, I'd think hard about your next words." God, his accent was more annoying than Rip's.

"What do you want me to say?" Leonard snapped. "You're just going to kill me anyway." He rolled his shoulders, feeling the tension in the ropes around his arms.

"True," Julian agreed. "But if you give me some information about your boss, I might be convinced to let you see your woman before I do."

"I don't know anything." Leonard tugged again at the ropes, wishing he did.

"I find that hard to believe," Julian said, "since you're married to his daughter."

Unbidden, an image of Sara floated into Leonard's mind.

_You wanna dance, Leonard?_ she asked, her hand on her hip and a challenge in her eyes. That was the first moment since the rooftop that he'd known with certainty: she wasn't wearing his ring yet, but by the time she met him in 1996, she would be.

"You don't know what you're talking about," Leonard growled. "Leave her out of it."

Leonard's mind raced. He had to keep Julian talking. The sooner he become bored with this conversation, the sooner Leonard would be dead, and Sara –

"You know, it's too bad," Julian said, as if he could read Leonard's thoughts. "Amelia would've been worth more to us alive than dead."

"Then leave her alive," Leonard snarled. He kept his face carefully blank as his fingers traced the underside of the chair, searching until he found a screw.

"That's not an option." Julian paused, placing his free hand on the back of Leonard's chair, leaning in close as his gun toyed at Leonard's side. "But maybe I'll kill her first," he whispered. "Maybe I'll bring her here, so you can watch her die."

Leonard pawed frantically at the screw, willing it loose. His fingers stumbled, uselessly pushing at it, not budging it at all.

"I'll kill you," he said, falling back on false bravado.

"Oh?" Julian cooed. Then he smacked Leonard across the head with his gun.

Everything faded into dull pain. For a moment, Sara's face swam before him again.

She was sharpening her knives in the fabrication room.

_Kissing me would probably end with more bloodshed than you're comfortable with._

She was teasing him with a smile.

_I can tell by the way you're staring at my ass._

She was hiding behind a hand of cards.

_Just so we're clear, this isn't me 'coming to you.'_

She was telling him secrets in the night.

_Turns out, I am still a killer_.

He was comforting her.

_You're a survivor. You did what you had to do to survive. To feel like you belong somewhere._

He was holding back from telling her, even when he knew:  _You belong with me._

Her sharp edges had always fit perfectly with his. Her darkness had always understood his, and her light, somehow, brought out his.

_I've been thinking about what the future might hold…_

A splash of water pulled Leonard out of the warm comfort of memories.

"Time's up, Johnny," Julian said, as Leonard sputtered. "I'm bored of this game. It's not nearly as satisfying as I thought it would be."

"I'll talk," Leonard gasped. His fingers found the screw in the chair again, and he turned at it frantically. "Tell me what you want to know, and I'll talk."

"Where's your hideout?" Julian demanded.

Leonard swallowed a sigh as he felt the screw finally come loose. Carefully, he eased it out, making sure not to put too much pressure on that side of the chair. Yet.

"Hodge at 22nd North," he threw out, thinking of an old warehouse he and Mick had used over the years.

Julian studied him, eyes narrowing. "Are you  _really_ that stupid?" He shoved the butt of his gun into Leonard's thigh. "That's our territory and you know it."

Leonard winced in pain, struggling to keep the chair from tipping before he was ready. "Maybe if you'd stop hitting me, I could think straight."

"We both know your hideout is behind the Ritz on Third," Julian said. "Cold bastard, won't even talk to see your girl." He grinned. Then he cocked his gun. "I won't give you the satisfaction. Isn't it worse to die knowing you'll never see her again? But don't worry," he added, leaning in to whisper. "She'll be joining you soon."

Julian pressed the barrel of his gun to Leonard's temple.

"What did you say to my father, before you shot him?" Julian asked. "I want to know. I want to hear the last thing he heard. Then I'm going to be the last thing you hear."

Leonard took a deep breath, clutching the screw in his fist. He would find out what the future held for him and Sara. This dumb goon wouldn't get in the way of that – nothing would.

"Go to hell."

He tipped the chair over, letting it topple down as one leg fell out and the other legs slid into Julian's, pushing him down. Leonard was ready when his body hit the hard cement floor, immediately kicking the seat of the chair down. He shimmied loose of his ropes, leaping to his feet and grabbing the chair, slamming it into Julian's head just as he sat up.

The door sprang open, and two more goons rushed in, drawn by the commotion. Leonard used the moment of surprise to his advantage, whacking one in the side of the head with the chair and grabbing the other's gun as he watched his partner fall. Leonard shot him in the foot and kicked him down, turning back to Julian in time to see him rising.

"You will never touch her," Leonard growled, catching Julian by the jaw and then punching him, smirking when Julian fell with a satisfying thump.

"See how he likes it," Leonard muttered, turning just in time to face three more gangsters who'd appeared in the doorway.

He shot one in the shoulder. He fell as Leonard turned his gun to Julian.

"Put down your weapons or I'll kill him," he warned. They hesitated a moment, looking around at the three unconscious men on the floor, before reluctantly sliding their weapons to Leonard.

"Thanks," Leonard drawled, shooting one in the thigh with his own gun.

"Where's the woman?" he demanded of the last man, training his gun on his chest.

"Just out this room, down the hall to the left, in the warehouse," the man stammered, hands up.

"If you're smart, you'll stay down," Leonard advised, before whacking the man across the back of his head with his gun.

"And do you think  _you're_ so smart?"

Leonard froze at the prick of cold steel at his throat. An arm wrapped around his chest, holding him in place as a knife cut into his jugular. Julian breathed heavily in his ear.

"That's the last mistake you'll ever make."

* * *

Sara stared at Iris, replaying her words in her mind until she couldn't breathe.

"No," she said, finally, but the word came out more like a moan. "No. Iris, you can't let them kill him."

"It's not up to me," Iris said, sadly. "I'm so sorry, Sara."

"Iris," Sara begged, but another voice said her name at the same time.

The women turned, both startled at the newcomer in the room. Sara did a double take, barely believing her eyes.

"Barry!" Sara gasped. A surge of hope filled her chest at the sight of him. But he refused to look at her.

"Let's go, Iris." he said. "Say goodbye."

Sara's stomach fell, not understanding. Barry always saved the day. Didn't he?

Iris turned back to Sara, eyebrows furrowed. "I hope you stay safe," she said, quickly. "If that means I never see you again, I'll be glad just to know you're okay."

Sara felt herself panicking. "Don't go," she insisted. "Help me. I can help you. We'll get out of this together."

"Come on," Barry insisted.

"You'll be okay," Iris whispered, standing. "You're stronger than this. You always have been." She hesitated, then leaned down to place a kiss on Sara's forehead. "I'll never forget you," she murmured, before turning away.

"Go on to the car," Barry instructed as Iris reached his side. "I need to have a few words with Sam."

Iris nodded, wiping at a tear as she glanced back at Sara one last time. Sara watched her leave, her chest tightening in disbelief.

"I gave Julian the order," Barry said, once Iris was gone. "We'll drop both of them in the river once this mess is cleaned up."

Sam grinned, cracking his neck. "Think he'll let me take pretty over here?"

Barry shrugged. "I'm sure he'll be in a generous spirit."

The other man, Ralph, Sara remembered, looked taken aback. "Iris said –"

"What Iris doesn't know won't hurt her," Barry cut him off. "If you're picking now to grow a conscience, then I suggest you leave."

"Iris told me to stay and make sure no harm came to her old friend," Ralph argued.

Barry's head tilted, and he straightened. "You need to remember who it is that you take orders from," Barry warned. "Or you'll be next."

Suddenly, Sara understood. They planned to kill her, too. It left her with an odd sense of calm, knowing that if she couldn't get Leonard out of this, she wouldn't, either. But why was Barry plotting to kill them?

Ralph swallowed, his eyes wide as he glanced between Sara and Barry. "You always said we wouldn't kill innocents," he said.

Barry let out a huff of a laugh. "She's not innocent," he said. "She's probably killed more men than you."

Sam chuckled, too, a dark, menacing sound.

"If you don't see it, you won't have to lie about it," Barry added. "Leave, Ralph. That's an order."

Ralph looked at Sara again, his eyes still wide and worried. But one last steely look from Barry sent him rushing down the corridor and out of sight.

"Barry," Sara called, as he started to follow Ralph out.

He stopped, looking back reflexively.

"What's happening?" she asked. "Why won't you let us go?"

None of this made sense. Sara could remember being drugged, now – she still felt light-headed and weak, and the room spun every time she moved her head. Still, even in her darkest dreams, she couldn't have imagined a Barry this cold and heartless.

It left icy fear in her stomach, wondering if she was imagining this at all.

"Sam," Barry said, speaking to the man even as his eyes stayed on Sara. "Make sure this doesn't take too long."

Then he was gone.

Sara gaped at the sight of his retreating back, mind racing.

_I have to get free._  She pulled at the ropes around her, struggling fiercely. Every breath was an effort, and Sara counted each one, knowing as she did that it was one second less that Leonard had.

Her chair jumped forward, and for a moment she was triumphant, until Sam stalked toward her and pushed her back with a growl, shoving her gag back into her mouth.

"You're just making this worse, sweetheart," he crooned.

Just then, a crashing sound echoed down the hall. Sam grunted and strode to the doorway, motioning to men Sara couldn't see.

"Go check that out," he ordered, before coming back to Sara. She stiffened at the sudden, sharp cold of his hands at her arms.

"Up you get," he ordered, as the ropes fell loose around her. Sara almost cried in relief, readying herself to attack and break free.

But her reflexes were compromised, and she was too slow. Sam had one hand gripping her wrists and the other holding a gun to her neck before she could even breathe.

The sounds of gunshots reverberated down the hall, stopping Sara's heart.

"Sounds like Julian is about done with your boyfriend," Sam taunted, his breath hot at her ear, covering the noise of another crash and more gunshots. "Or should I say husband?" He laughed as Sara squirmed, pressing the gun deeper into her skin.

Sara's blood boiled. She stomped back hard on Sam's foot, pressing in with her heel until he yowled with pain.

"Don't make me shoot you before Julian comes back," he growled, twisting her wrists and knocking her knees in. Sara collapsed, held only by Sam's tight grip.

_It can't end like this,_ she thought, desperately, trying to regain her feet. But the sudden quiet raked at her, settling like a lead weight in the pit of her stomach. Leonard wouldn't stop putting up a fight until he was dead. If there was no fight…

A lone set of footsteps clicked toward them.

"Speak of the devil," Sam said, "there's Julian now. Took him long enough."

Sara stopped breathing.  _They killed him,_ she realized, even as her heart rejected the words. She slumped, letting herself go limp.  _It's over_. She couldn't believe it. All that fighting. Everything they'd been through, for nothing – just to die here, lost and confused and alone. And Leonard –  _Leonard…_

"Julian!" Sam called. "Tell me I get to kill the girl."

The footsteps slowed. Sara hung her head, all the fight drained out of her.  _Leonard._ Her heart cried out for him. Her body shook, rejecting the loss even as the pain of it seeped into her bones.

And then a figure emerged from the shadows.

"You don't get to kill her."

Sara's head snapped up, not believing her ears.

"Leonard!" she cried.

He was a mess, but still standing, a gun trained on Sam. Even at a distance and in the dim light of the warehouse, Sara could see bruises forming on his cheeks. His clothes were crumpled, one of his suspenders hanging loosely at his side. But he was here. He was alive.

_You came back to me._

Sam's grip tightened on her wrists. He pushed her to her feet, shoving her in front of him.

"Oh yeah?" Sam goaded. The gun dug into her neck. "What're you gonna do to stop me?"

Sara watched Leonard's eyes widen with fear. His gun slipped down a fraction of an inch.

And for the first time that night, she felt afraid for her own life.

* * *

Leonard's heart raced, hammering in his chest like a machine gun. Sara was so close. They were so close to getting out of this. Except there was that feeling in his bones – that icy knowingness he always had right before things went south.

_Sam fucking Scudder_ , he thought bitterly, glaring at the man holding Sara like a human shield. First Barry, now him. At least Leonard expected this disgusting behavior from Sam, even if he didn't understand what he was doing here. He didn't really care – it didn't matter, as long as he could get Sara back safely.

_Sara._ He soaked in the sight of her, noting her every cut and scrape, vowing revenge for each one. They'd gagged her, he realized with a flare of anger. But her eyes were bright and determined as she stared back at him, despite all of it.

"What're you gonna do?" Sam repeated, pressing his cheek to Sara's and sneering back at Leonard, taunting him.

Leonard's arm shook with rage, and his gun popped back up. Maybe he could make the shot, even if the gun was unfamiliar in his hand.

But could he live with it, if he missed, if he killed her? Could he live with it if Sam shot first? His finger curved around the trigger.

"I'll –"

A shadow moved, growing from the darkness behind Sara and Sam, stopping Leonard short. He watched as the shadow morphed into a man, standing slowly, reaching out with his own gun. The shadow man put a finger to his lips, signaling quiet.

"I'll…" Leonard hesitated, swallowing, not sure whether to trust the shadows with Sara's life.

"You'll  _what_?" Sam goaded.

Then a single shot rang out, and Sam dropped to the floor.

"Kill you," Leonard finished, weakly, releasing his unused gun as Sara rushed toward him.

Leonard caught her as she flew into his arms, clinging to her tightly. "Thank god," he murmured, his eyes closing as he held her. He'd never come closer to believing in a higher power than in that moment.

"I thought you were dead," she sighed, grabbing his face in her hands as soon as she dropped to the ground. He returned the gesture, stroking her cheeks with his thumbs.

"Please," he murmured, his eyes watering. "You're the one I was afraid for." He released relieved laughter, wondering what Mick would say to see him like this.

Sara laughed too, as a tear escaped her eyes. "Please," she agreed, drawing his forehead down to meet hers. They stood like that for a long moment, both unwilling to let the other go.

A gruff cough brought them back to the present.

"We need to get out of here," said a familiar voice.

Leonard's head snapped up in shock, staring at their rescuer.

"Mick?" he asked, stunned.

"Well," Mick shrugged, " _my_  Leonard always calls me Mickey, but sure." He nodded to the door. "I hope we're friends on your Earth, because I'm the only friend you've got tonight."

"Our…Earth?" Sara asked. "You mean this isn't…"

"Welcome to Earth-20," Mick said, spreading his arms. "That's what the perfessor calls it, anyway. Even though it's the goddamn Earth we're from."

Leonard pulled Sara closer to him, mind spinning.  _First Barry, then Sam, now Mick…_ And what did he mean,  _Earth-20_?

"But we're in the past," Sara argued, sounding as confused as he felt.

Mick sighed. "Not the past for us, is it?" he grumbled. "Perfessor says our timeline doesn't match most other Earths. Something to do with the war. Who cares? We need to go. Now."

"You're saying we're not on our own Earth?" Leonard asked, still reeling.

"That's right, boss," Mick agreed. "You're on one of many  _alternate_ Earths. Or you are as long as you're alive, anyway. But that won't last long if we don't get out of here."

Sara met Leonard's eyes with a look that he knew mirrored his own.

So much for creating an aberration to get their team's attention. He had no idea how the Waverider would ever find them now.


End file.
